


Another Life

by smoakmonster



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Arrow AU, Canon Divergence, F/M, Future!Oliver, Parallel Universes, Team Arrow, olicity - Freeform, olicity angst, olicity au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakmonster/pseuds/smoakmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Oliver joins the League of Assassins, Felicity spends the winter searching for him. Unexpectedly, another Oliver Queen arrives from a future, parallel universe with a single purpose: to get back the Felicity he lost. Even if that means taking her from himself in this world. Alternate Oliver and his life hold more surprises than even Felicity can imagine. Can she ever return home to her Oliver and team? Will she still want to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not The Oliver You're Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity continues to search for Oliver. Someone unexpected shows up in the foundry.

Felicity sighed as she sat before the three monitors, each one taunting her with information and infinite possibilities. And yet technology was failing her. All this accessibility and none of it could tell her what she wanted to know most. Pulling up yet another facial recognition software that had been running overnight, Felicity spent what felt like hours cross-referencing every possible frame. Fidgeting and cracking her neck and pacing and patting her fingers against the keys impatiently…she waited. Only to come up with exactly zero matches.

Felicity slumped, all her energy dissipating as yet another flicker of hope went out. There was no sign of him anywhere. The trail had gone cold last week. But she’d been hanging on, trying every possible angle, using every blessed I.Q. point she had. All to no avail. The League was even craftier than they’d estimated.

Yanking off her glasses, Felicity rubbed her eyes. “Where are you, Oliver?” she breathed, a whisper to herself, a plea to whatever elusive fate gods were out there listening. As she opened her eyes, something green in her peripheral vision captured her attention. Spinning and putting her glasses back on and hoping…she saw it was the fern.

Gulping down irrational disappointment, Felicity rose and approached the little plant, sitting on the table exactly where he’d left it. She smiled despite herself. It was the only thing green she had left of him. Frowning, she suddenly wondered who’d been watering the plant this week. She’d been so focused on finding Oliver, she’d completely forgotten about it. John must have been taking care of it.

Reaching out, she ran the thin, bristling leaves in between her fingers. Initially, the plant’s texture always felt different than one would expect; but leaves seemed to get softer the longer you touched them. Everything one encountered changed the longer you were in its presence. Like someone she knew.

And then, before she could really put any thought into _why_ she was doing it, Felicity leaned down to smell the fern. It didn’t really have much of an aroma or odor of any kind. Ferns weren’t flowers after all. But for some reason drinking in fresh, botanical air gave her comfort she didn’t know how to describe. The plant reminded her of him, and she couldn’t even breathe properly when he wasn’t here.

The foundry door banged opened, and Felicity heard the distinctive sound of leather rubbing and rapid footsteps. Roy.

Felicity sighed, tilting her head as she continued to study the fern. “The newest software couldn’t find anything. No sign of him anywhere. It’s like he’s vanished off the planet...you know, digitally speaking. I can try running our latest contact through a different database. I think we may have some resources at work. I’ll have to talk to Ray—”

As she turned, she stopped, her mouth dropping open, and every thought she’d been thinking a mile a minute came crashing to halt. Felicity clung to the table desperately, needing it for support to keep herself from falling to the floor in shock.

In her rambling she hadn’t noticed that the man in the room with her wasn’t wearing red. He was wearing green. His green.

In one fluid motion, he lifted his hood and his unmasked face met hers.

Felicity felt all the air in her body expel. Her throat went dry. She couldn’t even blink for fear that he’d disappear the next second. “Oliver” was all she managed to whisper.

He came to her then, taking her in his arms. She didn’t know what she was expecting—a familiar hand on her shoulder, a long, bear-sized hug, perhaps, or even a lingering kiss on her forehead. What she did not anticipate, however, was Oliver grabbing her chin and pulling her lips to his, practically crashing into her with so much force.

Shocked, she couldn’t respond at first. But he didn’t seem to care, as he carried the movement for both of them, pulling her body closer to his, deepening the kiss. Her head began to buzz and spin, and Felicity dizzily held onto him. She began kissing him back, desperately, savoring the way his hands felt on her back and his warmth radiated around and through her. 

Their rhythm changed. Oliver had initiated a rapid and exhausting kiss, but now they were taking their time. She was losing oxygen, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to fight to end this, not when he was clearly trying so hard to hold onto her. Felicity had never experienced him this way before. Sure, their first kiss had been wonderful, passionate and pure. But this...this kiss was fierce. She felt herself weakening, having to cling to his jacket for dear life just to stay vertical. Oliver kissed her with more strength and intensity than Felicity ever thought he was willing to offer her. She knew he was all those things and more; now he was finally acting.

Oliver suddenly broke away to let them breathe. He held her still, pressing his forehead to hers, practically heaving and blowing air into her face. And Felicity suddenly felt cold and deficient at the loss of his touch.

“Wait,” he gasped. He swallowed once before continuing, “You and Ray. Are you—”

“What? No, no. There is no me and Ray.” She paused for emphasis, gauging his response. “I don’t think there ever was going to be.”

That seemed to alleviate him, as he let out an easy exhale. Something behind her suddenly caught his eye. His frown deepened. “What day is it?”

“Um..." she turned to follow his line of sight, realizing he'd seen the fern. She spun back around. "It’s Wednesday."

He just groaned, his grip on her arms tightening. “The date, Felicity.”

“Oh. Oh. January 14th...2015.” She enunciated each syllable in the year and squinted her eyes, wondering just how much the weeks away with the League had impacted his mental faculties.

“Dammit.” He released her and pushed himself a few inches back. “I came back too soon.”

Ok. Now he was just pissing her off. “Came back too soon? What are you talking about? Were you just going to run around with the League of Assassins for another six months and then suddenly pop back into our lives at your earliest convenience? Well, I’m sorry Oliver if—”

“Felicity,” he sighed, cupping her cheek and rubbing his gloved thumb across her skin. She shivered. “Oh, Felicity.” He stroked her hair back and pressed their foreheads together again.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she breathed.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re seeing a ghost.”

He swallowed. “It’s cause I am.”

Drawing back just enough, she examined him with caution, trying to pinpoint what he was thinking. Felicity saw then. She saw what her bliss-crazed mind had failed to detect. And now that the waves of shock were fading, she noticed: gray flakes of hair around his ears and in his beard; wrinkles about the eyes that hadn’t been there last year. His skin was darker. His face was harder. He looked _older_. Five weeks couldn’t age someone, even Oliver, that rapidly.

“Oliver?” She pulled back further, cautiously stepping out of his embrace, a tentative hand still lingering on his arm.

His jaw tightened, a strange grimace playing at his lips. “I guess I should’ve planned for this. You were always too smart for me.”

“Planned for what? Oliver, you’re not making any sense.”

He turned away, dragging a hand down his face. So many questions starting bubbling to the surface of her mind that she struggled to know which one to ask first—

The computer dinged, informing her ears of a new development. Felicity forced herself to turn away from a rather distraught-looking Oliver. Suddenly she wondered how in the world he had managed to get back to Starling City without her knowing. She had established three rows of checkpoints for that very purpose. Maybe this was an alert coming in too late. Though that seemed highly improbable, considering all the work she’d put into making sure she knew the absolute _instant_ he made an appearance.

Felicity approached the screens, expecting to see some trivial update or the facial recognition coming back negative again. Instead, she was surprised to find an alert—a camera had finally spotted Oliver. She smiled. _Yeah, no kidding_. No doubt it was a Verdant camera. Felicity opened the file to check the time stamp and was shocked to find that it was in fact Oliver. Only he wasn’t at Verdant. He wasn’t even on this continent from the looks of things. Oliver Queen, clothed in tight, form-fitting, all black garb was talking to a woman with long dark hair. Felicity sucked in a tight breath when the woman turned and faced the camera. Nyssa Al Ghul.

Felicity started to analyze every pixel of the file, already running recording and cross-referencing programs, when she suddenly caught the time. It was twelve hours ahead of Starling. And it was a live feed. Suddenly she remembered the man in the room with her, and stopped typing, slowly, placing longer pauses between types, so he wouldn’t notice right away.

This allowed her to fully watch Oliver, _her_ _Oliver_ , chat with Nyssa and two other League members joining the conversation—if their black attire was anything to go by. Her heart was doing somersaults. He was alive. She had finally found him. Which begged the question…who was with her now? Felicity’s eyes slid to the right, catching sight of the top drawer which held the knives. She had to act fast. If this man was anything like her Oliver, then there would be no chance for do-overs.

3...2...1... She ceased typing and darted over to the drawer, shoving it open, and grabbing the first weapon she could. Sliding it out of its sheath, she held it up defensively. “Who the hell are you?!” she shouted.

Oliver—no, _not_ Oliver—the man in green who looked very much like Oliver—held his hands up in surrender. Remarkably calm, he didn’t even flinch. His eyes just shifted with tight precision between her and what she held in her hand. He nodded to the weapon. “Why don’t you put that down before you hurt yourself?”

“No,” she cried, defiantly holding onto it all the more tightly. “You do not get to tell me what to do, Ol…or whoever you are.”

His face twisted as though she’d slapped him. “It’s _me_ , Felicity.”

“No,” she pressed, thrusting the knife out further for good measure. She tried to stay firm, but she could hear the falter in her voice. “No no no, because _Oliver Queen_ is right there”—she pointed to the screen—“talking with Nyssa Al Ghul, so unless this is one of those weird genetic things, which statistically is _very_ unlikely, you need to explain to me what is going on _right now_ —”

“I’m from the future,” he stated, his words hovering in the silence that followed.

Felicity’s hand shook. She didn’t want to believe him. She couldn’t believe him, because it’s just _not possible_. And yet...his appearance and the way he behaved and the fact that she could tell he meant every word he said... Felicity dropped the knife. The clang sounded across the foundry, until the last of its echoes faded into utter silence. Finally, Felicity spoke again, shaking her head. “H-h-how...how far in the future?”

He sighed. “Well, since it’s 2015 here...” he hesitated, throwing her an odd glance, clearly choosing to reveal only what was minimally necessary. “Let’s just say it’s a few years.”

Felicity crossed her arms. Well, it was good to know that apparently Oliver was just as stubbornly obtuse in the future as he was in the present.

“There’s more.”

She laughed once without humor, her lips trembling with shock and fear and confusion, as she trudged back over to her chair and plopped down into it.

He paused again and made a face. She knew that face at least. He was trying to convince himself not to go through with whatever he was about to tell her. At the last second though, he just tipped his head and pulled off his left glove. Gently, he approached her, holding out his hand for her to see. The light bounced off the metal, and there it was: a silver wedding ring.

Her gaze rapidly darted up and down between his eyes and the ring. “W-we...?”

He just nodded solemnly.

She cleared her throat. “Um okay. So...so why aren’t you...?” She was going to say _“Why aren’t you with your wife, who is apparently future me?”_ But she didn’t have to. He seemed to know where her sentence was headed, and the look on his face was enough to tell her: whatever future he’d come from clearly did not bear good things for the two of them.

Was she _dead_ in this hypothetical future of theirs? Did she leave him for another man? That idea seemed utterly ridiculous to Felicity. But then again, earlier today, the idea of a Futuristic Oliver Queen, _her future husband_ , showing up in the foundry—meanwhile Present Oliver Queen was selling his soul to the League of Assassins—had seemed rather far-fetched as well. So maybe anything was possible.

He kneeled down in front of her, placing his left hand on her arm rest, as though to accentuate the fact that he was wearing a wedding ring. “I’m not from here, Felicity,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

“What do you mean?”

He pressed his lips together and then answered her hurriedly. “Eight years from now, Ray Palmer is going to create a device that will allow people to cross worlds.” He scrunched his eyebrows together as he studied her with that commanding gaze of his. “The truth is I don’t really know how it all works myself. The important thing is that it got me here. To you.”

“Cross worlds? Like, as in, parallel universes?”

He smiled with pride that she had caught on so quickly.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Look into my eyes, Felicity, and tell me if I’m lying to you.” He spoke with such conviction and the intense way that he watched her...it was very much the Oliver she knew and loved. No. He wasn’t lying to her. So far as she could tell, he seemed convinced everything he said was the truth. That didn’t rule out the possibility that _this Oliver_ could be one step shy of insanity.

“So why _are_ you here?” she finally asked, her voice shaking as she tried to remain calm and collected.

“Because in my world, I lost my wife. I need you, Felicity,” he pleaded, his voice gentle and desperate. But his eyes betrayed him. These beautiful blue eyes were darker and more threatening than the ones she remembered. His voice changed then, a deep undertone confirming her suspicions as he slipped his hand around her wrist. “And since I can’t live without you, I’ll take whatever version of you I can get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not! This story is not over. I think this will turn into at least three more chapters, depending on where the muse takes me. Sound good? I'm thrilled people want to see more of this story. I know I do. Thanks for reading!


	2. From Here To Parallelity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity attempts to unravel the mystery that is future, alternate Oliver Queen. He makes her an offer she can't refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. I am just blown away by the response! THANK YOU all for your positive remarks! It is because of YOU, dear readers, that this story is continuing. Originally, I think I mentioned doing roughly 5 chapters. Well, looks like this will turn into at least a 10 chapter story arc. My mind is just bursting with ideas so yay!
> 
> Sorry this one's a bit angsty.

It seemed no matter which universe Oliver Queen hailed from, he would always take the most reckless, time-saving course of action.

As soon as they left Verdant, Alternate Oliver (as she had decided to call him in her mind) had wasted no time, practically dragging her through the streets of Starling. They went about ten blocks in a zigzag fashion, when he’d finally stopped abruptly in front of a prestigious building Felicity didn’t recognize, and then shot an arrow with an attached cable at the roof.

Felicity was still having trouble understanding exactly how the whole thing had transpired. Conveniently, he'd whipped out a small rectangular gadget, which had unfolded itself into the shape of his weapon of choice. With the finesse of a tiger, he had lifted his bow up and over her body, pressing the weapon against her back to keep her cocooned in his arms. Then he’d somehow managed to fire with the same level of accuracy he always exhibited, with the cable wrapping around a pipe and the arrow lodging into a concrete slab. Felicity would have been more impressed if the feat didn’t absolutely irritate her.

“Don’t look down,” he’d whispered, as the cable retracted, pulling them up. She’d had no choice but to cling to his body for dear life. He’d kept a steady hand on her back the whole time. If his arms were hurting at any point, he gave her no sign. When they finally reached the top, he’d taken her hand, guiding her away from the roof's edge; meanwhile, she'd attempted to regain composure over her nerves by puffing her cheeks and humming to herself. She had felt his eyes on her back as she’d walked away, firmly planting herself in the middle of the roof, where she was now seated.

Felicity watched her breath turn to vapor against the night sky. Craning her neck back, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to try to sooth her nerves. Or was it simply the crisp air that was making her shake? 

When she reopened her eyes, something overhead captured her attention. Sitting up straighter, she blinked a few times and squinted. They were fuzzy amidst the glow of city lights, but they were definitely there: the three stars of Orion’s belt. Felicity smiled. Orion was her favorite constellation, and she was grateful to even get a glimpse of him. She didn’t need to see to the rest of his starry outline to know where his arms and weapon would be in the sky.

Stars were one of the few constants in her life. No matter where she went, she could look up and see old friends who had been burning brilliantly for thousands of years, providing light to the lost and hope to the curious. Orion would be visible across the northern hemisphere this time of year. Felicity swallowed phlegm. Maybe even _her_ hunter could see The Hunter.

A sudden thought crossed her mind: did other universes observe the same set of stars this world did? Had the same balls of fire survived all the millennia? Had some of them given out sooner than others? Perhaps the people of another earth got to gaze up at an entirely different array of lights. They probably had names for stars that didn’t even exist in this universe.

Sirens suddenly rang out, and habitually Felicity turned her head toward the noise. At least two emergency vehicles sounded close, like they were only a few blocks away, but she couldn’t see any flashing lights over the buildings. From this high up, sound became exaggerated and misleading. She was beginning to see why assassins picked the rooftop strategy; there were several advantages, once you got over that annoying fear of heights.

The sirens eventually grew whiny and distorted, as the last of the echoes faded. Felicity’s mind began to spin with speculation, and she wondered if there had been an accident downtown again, or if the cops were attempting another drug’s bust. If she were still in the foundry, she could be hacking traffic cameras to find the source of the problem, and then John and Roy could....

John and Roy. Felicity tried to ignore the clench that formed around her heart as she thought about her boys. They would be back by now, wondering where in the world she had disappeared to. No doubt John would send Roy out to do a search when they found no evidence to go on, while he tried his hand—or rather, _hands_ —at saving her, sadly under-utilizing her computers to their minimal potential. That mental picture made her smile for a second. John’s sausage hands possessed the hacking efficiency of chicken scratch. He’d be worried about messing something up and incurring her wrath when— _if_ she came back.

Felicity had to gulp down air to keep the tears at bay. She hated the thought of causing her friends to fear the worst. The team wouldn’t survive another blow like this. What would they do in her absence? Would they enlist Barry and his team in helping find her? Even with Barry involved, though, he would have to check practically _everywhere_ in Starling. Barry was fast but not exactly a hunter.

Oliver, however, was an expert at covering his tracks. She would know.

She started when a shiny object popped into her line sight. Like Willy Wonka himself, he knelt before her, offering her a golden-wrapped bar, along with a strangely sympathetic smile.

"You really should eat something," he said in that rare, gentle voice, which sounded _exactly_ like the Oliver she knew and loved. And in the dim lighting she couldn’t perceive any distinct signs of age, so right now, with those fond eyes piercing into her, he even looked like her Oliver. Except, she had to remind herself, he definitely was _not_ the Oliver she knew and loved. Oh, crafty rooftop deceit.

Felicity just twisted away and crossed her arms, as though she were a toddler. "I’m not hungry," she stated proudly, pleased that at least the cold didn’t hinder the strength in her voice.

He sighed in exasperation, and the small brick plopped onto her lap. Felicity heard the sound of shifting leather against concrete as he moved away. She tried not to want the food. She was ready to mentally exert all the willpower it would take to control the hunger pains. Her resolve lasted an entire five seconds, until her stomach decided to growl at the bar’s proximity. Felicity groaned, shooting him a peripheral glance. If he’d heard her weak tummy roaring, he gave no indication.

Reluctantly, she picked up the bar, turning the wrapped package over between her fingers. Frowning, she brought it closer for more thorough inspection. Lifting the creases and pulling at the edges, she flipped the bar again and again. It was unlike any product she’d ever seen. There was no logo, no label, not a single marking anywhere on the strange plastic.

Skeptically she asked, "Is this FDA approved?"

"Not exactly." She could hear the smile in his voice.

Okay. That was Oliver code for no. So where did this thing come from? Did he illegally package and sell granola in another life?

"Is this from _your_ world?" she asked, resuming eye contact with him. He simply tilted his head to answer yes.

Well that answered that. But Felicity was still puzzled as to _why_ he had brought the food with him. Was there a rule somewhere about never time-traveling on an empty stomach? And what about sustenance integrity? Did the molecular structure of food remain intact when crossing universes?

Felicity puckered her lips and raised her eyebrows. "How do I know it’s edible?"

He shrugged. "I had one."

Her eyes narrowed. "Well, no offense, but that’s not exactly a recommendation."

Shaking his head, he laughed. His brief but deep-throated guffaw echoed off the rooftop walls and vibrated through her. Felicity couldn’t control the way his laugh caused her heart to leap or the weird flutters erupting from deep within her belly. This sound was one she had sorely missed and had been dreading for weeks she might never hear again. Oliver’s laugh always gave her solace.

When he looked at her, Felicity felt all of her muscles tighten and the hairs along her skin stand in attention. As he openly regarded her, those fierce, blue eyes penetrated her own with serene intent. He looked at her like he was a dying man and she was salvation. Felicity recognized his relief and contentment and adamant desire; but more than that, she felt his love hit her like a tidal wave. His intense gaze shook her to the core, which was as frightening as it was overwhelming, so her body shivered.

His face softened instantly, and he approached. "Are you cold?"

Felicity shook her head, but he ignored her, unzipping his jacket, leaving him in form-fitting black tee. Before she could even verbalize her protest, he wrapped the green leather around her shoulders, tugging at the lapel.

Felicity felt her body uncontrollably relax as his leftover warmth and scent enveloped her. She didn’t know how to explain it, but Oliver always smelled like a cabin in the woods, like pine trees and a burning fire and _home_ all blended together. It was intoxicating. But she also felt unworthy to be wearing this jacket...this _hood_. She knew its value. She knew what the hood served to remind him of, what it symbolized.

And yet _this_ Oliver had offered it to her with ease, as though shedding a piece of his identity were the most natural act in the world. She hadn’t really even been that cold. Although now that she was safely enfolded within the Arrow’s clothes, she had little desire to be out of them.

Felicity awkwardly waited for him to retreat again, and when he didn’t, she looked up, wondering why he felt the need to linger in her personal space. His expression was oddly playful, as he nodded to the jacket.

Frowning, she looked down and realized she hadn’t put the sleeves on yet. Gently, she lifted her arms and slipped them through the large holes. Her hands were nowhere near the edges, with at least half a foot of extra material hanging off her arms. Tucking her arms into her torso, she cleared her throat. "Thank you."

He nodded and smiled in return, pressing a hand into her right shoulder with affection. "Looks good on you," he said, before backing away.

Felicity angled her body around to see him better. He grew stoic, stiffly leaning against the rooftop edge as he watched the streets. He didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. Whether intentionally or not, Felicity began cataloging any semblances of familiarity she could perceive about him.

In his profile, the likeness to her Oliver was uncanny, with the back glow of city lights defining his large, toned arms, exaggerating his firm jawline, and highlighting his sandy brown hair. God, he was still so incredibly beautiful. While most people tended to lose appealing features or gain distortions, age, it seemed, had only added to the Oliver Queen looks department. Surprise, surprise. If anyone could beat the system, it would be him. And if this was what future Felicity had to look forward to, well, that was certainly a plus.

He chuckled again. "Is that your way of saying you find me attractive?"

Heat spread across her cheeks and down her neck. _Oh crap. Oh crappedy crap crap crap._

In a rush to distract herself from what she’d just admitted out loud, Felicity ripped open the package he’d given her and shoved the bar into her mouth, taking a fierce bite. Almost immediately, she gagged at the bitterness and nearly spit the thing out right then. She opened her throat and tried to suppress the desire to hack. Scrunching her face, Felicity made herself chew, first in slow chomps, then in rapid, mini-bites mashing the bar to smithereens. The longer she chewed, the harder it became to swallow. Cocoa and the distinct tang of orange and another, undefinably sharp flavor made her tongue feel dry and swollen, like that time she had the flu.

Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, she managed to swallow the tart mess. She waited for her saliva juices to replenish and swallowed again. And again. The process helped, but the walls of her mouth were coated in a bitter aftertaste. She felt as though she’d eaten tar.

When her throat felt remotely normal again, she looked up. He was still watching her, concern apparent in his frown, though his eyes flickered with wry amusement. "You okay?"

She nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. "Please tell me that not all food is like that in your world."

He grimaced. "I can’t make any promises."

Felicity just tipped her head, giving him _the look_ , and was queerly satisfied when a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. Well, thank goodness he wasn’t entirely unpredictable. She could make Alternate Oliver smile, too. This was somewhat familiar territory. Now she wondered if she could also spot his lies. There was only one way to find out.

"So what's the plan here, Oliver?" she asked. He threw her a very _un_ amused glance, but she pressed him anyway. "I mean, are we just going to wait around until you get some kind of intergalactic signal that it's okay to go back?"

Still, he remained maddeningly silent. Yet she noticed the brief change in his stance as he shifted weight from one leg to the other. And then his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. It was his tell. He only did the shifting thing when he was uncomfortable, and his shoulders only ever sagged when he was out of ideas.

"You didn't exactly think this one through, did you?"

His head snapped in her direction, surprise written on his face. But then he just sighed, running a hand over his head, pulling at the hairs at the base of his scalp. "You know, Felicity, I haven't thought something through in...quite some time." He said it in a light manner, but Felicity could hear the sad undertone and understood the truth he was concealing between words.

 _Since she’s been gone._ Felicity gulped. Exactly how long he had been living like this, without another person that he loved? He seemed relatively stable, but even her Oliver had mastered the art of concealment. No doubt this Oliver unjustly blamed himself for whatever had happened to her.

Felicity rose and trudged over to his side. "Oliver."

He sighed deeply, turning to look at her, the pain so prevalent in his eyes.

Her lips trembled. "Can I ask you something?" she said gently. 

He nodded, his gaze fiercely fixated on her.

"Do you..." she paused, unsure of how or even if she should continue. Suddenly she felt his hand on her upper arm, his thumb rubbing her through the leather.

"It’s alright, Felicity. You can ask me anything."

She searched his face for the lie, and there was none to be found. So she licked her lips and tried again, "In your world, what happened with Slade?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, did you kill him or send him to Lian Yu like we did here, or I don’t know. Is there a third option?"

"I sent him to Lian Yu," he answered with a heavy tone of finality.

"Right," she breathed, stalling. "And did he...kill someone you love?"

His eyes went wide with fervor. "He didn’t kill _her_ , if that’s what you’re asking."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Felicity briefly shook her head. "I uh...I guess I’m just trying to understand _why_ you’re here and why...why you think that this version of me has what you’re looking for. I mean, you don’t really know anything about me, and I don’t know anything about you—"

"Felicity Meghan Smoak. You were born and raised in Las Vegas. Graduated from M.I.T. in 2009. Jewish. You're allergic to nuts and bullshit. You dye your hair." He paused to take a breath. His eyes were magnetic, willing her gaze to remain locked with his, as he silently begged her not to let him go on. When she said nothing, he swallowed. His voice deepened as his words grew hesitant. "When you were nine years old, your dad walked out on you and your mom. Before me, you were only ever in love with one person and that was Cooper—"

"Stop. J-just stop, please." Felicity rubbed her forehead, forcing herself to breathe as the memories flooded her mind. She supposed she deserved it. She had reminded him of darker times, and he was just retuning the favor. Still, she was angry. He knew the details of her life as one would a star in a magazine, but that didn’t mean anything.

She wasn’t his Felicity, and he wasn’t her Oliver; and no list of facts about either of them was going to change that.

Felicity started talking rapidly, pointing a finger at his chest. "You may know a litany of things I could easily list on my resume—well, maybe not the dad walking out or Cooper part—but the point is _you_ don’t know _me._ Your Felicity and I may have similar pasts, but there are other things that make us different. I may not be the girl you want."

He looked defeated, like he’d just taken a beating. Turning away, he let out a slow exhale. "This isn’t about what I want."

"What does that mean?" she cried to his back. "Is this about what you think you need, Oliver? Because you have survived _so much_. You survived an island with people who did God-only-knows-what to you. I don’t even know a _fraction_ of the pain you went through in that place. And you survived Hong Kong. And you survived losing your mom and your dad and...and Tommy"—he spun, sheer agony evident in his expression, but she didn’t stop. A tear came over her eyelid and ran down her cheek, as she breathed the last name, "And Sara."

His face crumpled, and he swayed back and forth on his feet, uncertain. "You know about Sara?" he whispered hoarsely.

She nodded, blinking rapidly as the tears spilled over. She was moving to swipe them away, when he came to her, beating her hands to the act. His warm, gentle fingers stroked her wet cheeks with detailed care.

"Shh," he breathed. "It’s okay."

Felicity shook her head. He wasn’t listening. Reaching up, she placed her hand over one cupping her cheek. "Oliver, you are a fighter and a survivor. You’ve trained yourself to make it through anything. So whatever happened with her—me— _her_ -me, you can survive that, too."

He tilted his head and continued stroking her face, even as her tears receded. “Oh, Felicity. That’s where you’re wrong. You were always the exception to every rule I made for myself. And I can’t live in a world where you aren’t with me."

Felicity took a step back. "So you’re just going to deprive this world’s Oliver of me, too? If I’m so important, then you’ll be hurting my Oliver beyond repair too, right?"

He dropped his hand. "Except he’s not here, is he, Felicity? I am."

Fire arose in her chest. "That is _not_ fair—"

"I never said I played fair," he answered darkly.

God, this man was infuriating. "So you think you have the right to just swoop in and take his place?" She was yelling now, and she didn’t care. She was _not_ going with him.

Still, he remained unruffled. But beneath the surface, she could feel the storm brewing. "I have the right to fight for what I want."

"By stealing what doesn’t belong to you?"

He sighed deeply. "It’s not that simple."

"Yes, it is. I know you’ve got this all justified in that stubborn, vigilante head of yours. But I don’t belong with you. I belong _here_ in my world, with my friends and my team."

"I’m willing to do whatever it takes, Felicity," he warned. She shivered again. He almost sounded like the Arrow, except he wasn’t wearing a voice modulator.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "What are you going to do? Put an arrow in me?" A heavy beat passed between them, and when he said nothing, Felicity fidgeted. "Are you seriously considering that right now?"

"No!" he shouted. "I would never hurt you." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice softened. "At least, not in that way. I know I have in other ways."

Felicity huffed once. "Well, at least that’s something."

He took a tentative step towards her. And when she didn’t automatically retreat, he took another. "But I can give you the choice of either coming with me cooperatively or _much_ more painfully."

Her eyebrows pressed together. "Painfully how? You going to start shooting arrows at other people until I comply?"

He tipped his head, rubbing his lips together in frustration. "You know, Felicity, I’m not just some thoughtless criminal. Is that how _he_ behaves? By recklessly shooting whoever’s in his path? Because if that’s the case, then perhaps you should reconsider why you want to stay—"

The words were barely out of him, when her body impulsively reacted, and she slapped him hard. "How dare you," she spit out.

He groaned, rubbing his jaw, but didn’t appear at all rattled. If anything, the blow seemed to have calmed him down. "I’m sorry," he said after a while. "What I’m trying to say is...I will let you tell your friends goodbye, tell your team goodbye, if you come with me without conflict. But," he paused for emphasis, giving her a look that said he was one-hundred-percent serious, "if you fight me, I will have no choice but to take you either way."

Felicity was practically panting, she was so livid. After a while, her breathing slowed, and she finally felt calm enough to reply. "And how you do you plan on doing that?"

Something akin to mischief emerged in his expression. "Let’s just say you won’t be conscious for the ride over."

Her eyes narrowed. "You just said you’d never hurt me."

"Oh, you won’t feel a thing."

"What is it, like a Vulcan death grip or something?"

He chuckled, and Felicity felt the last of her anger dissipate; but the pressing, thick tension between them remained. It seemed no matter how much she peppered him with questions, he was never going to tell her exactly what she wanted to know. _Her_ Oliver was always reassuring in his silence. But with _him_ , Alternate Oliver, the longer he kept quiet, the more terrified she became. This was uncharted terrain. What could this man possibly be like back in his world, with no inhibitions to stop him?

As though reading the fear on her face, he suddenly reached behind him, pulling something out of his back pocket and holding it out to her.

When she glanced down, light reflected off the object in his hand: her phone. Her head snapped up, an unspoken question hovering between them.

"I swiped it on the way out," he explained.

Half-heartedly, she took the mobile, running her thumbs over the smooth screen. "I’m never going to see them again, am I?" she muttered.

With wobbling lips and trembling hands, Felicity started dialing the number for what was probably the final time. She took her time, listening to the dial tone of each key. When she’d finished, she just started down at the seven-digit code for what felt like ages. She must have somehow summoned up the courage to hit the call button, because the next thing she knew the phone was pressed to her ear and ringing.

"Felicity." John’s steady, baritone voice came over the line. She could hear his rapid typing in the background.

"John," she breathed, a smile spreading across her face.

"Where are you? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, no, I’m fine." She combed her fingers through her hair a few times. "I promise, John. I’m okay."

"Felicity." If it was even possible, his voice dropped an octave, almost to a whisper. "If you’re saying this under duress, I want you to answer me yes."

Felicity swallowed, making eye contact with the Oliver in front of her. He watched her with caution, his eyes meticulously roaming over her face. She could try to give John a hint, try to let him know her location. But this was Oliver Queen. Even if he wasn’t exactly like the Oliver she knew, he was close enough. She couldn’t lie to him, either. He always knew her thoughts and seemed to read her like a book, so he would know the second something was off, and then this phone call would be over. She couldn’t risk that. She had to at least let John know she was alright.

"No," she breathed, and she could swear Oliver sagged with relief. "But I-I’m not coming back. Don’t ask why. I-I can’t tell you. Just know that I’m safe."

"Felicity, whatever’s going on—"

"John, I just wanted to say thank you." Her voice broke, and she could feel the tears resurfacing. It wouldn’t be long before she was a blubbering mess. She had to get this out fast. "Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for being my friend and...and for protecting my family. _You’re_ my family, John. You and Roy and...and Oliver."

She gasped as she said his name, wiping away the drops sliding down her cheek with the back of her other hand. "Promise me, you’ll tell him. W-when he comes back— _if_ he comes back—will you tell him...that I love him? You know he’ll blame himself for this. You can’t let him think that it’s his fault I’m gone. It’s not. It’s nobody’s fault."

The man in front of her seemed to wilt with every word she uttered, but his resolve remained steadfast. Secretly, she’d been hoping that maybe this call would make him change his mind. Instead, while he looked a little upset, knowing what she was giving up, he appeared thoroughly undaunted. Felicity forced herself to keep staring at him. "This is just something that I have to do. Don’t try to find me. You can’t."

"Felicity—"

"I’m so sorry, John." Her voice cracked and teeth chattered at the inability to say goodbye. With a shaking hand, she hit the end call button.

A sudden cold rush came over her, pounding inside her skull, like she’d eaten ice cream too quickly. She moaned, rubbing her forehead to try to soothe away the pain. But it just kept coming, nausea overtaking her. Felicity swayed, and the phone slipped from her hand.

"Woah, hey." He grabbed her waist, pulling her close to let her use his body to support her weight.

She wanted to protest, but her joints suddenly felt too weak, so she pressed her hands to his chest. "What is happening to me?"

Her head bobbed, and she felt a secure hand on her back. "I’m sorry, Felicity," he breathed in her ear.

She shook her head to try to clear the haze, and in a moment of clarity, Felicity suddenly understood. The bar. "Did you dwrug me?!"

He just groaned, which she absolutely took as an affirmative.

"W-what ‘bout you? You had w-w...one, too," she was struggling to form complete thoughts, let alone complete sentences.

"Mmh. Yes, but I didn’t eat the one with fast-acting sleep medication."

"You twricked me," she cried desperately, trying to swat at his chest. But her arms felt like they were losing blood flow, so her movements merely came out as weak pats.

"I know. But this was the best way to make sure...." His voice began to fade, the sound deepening and stretching in ways that weren’t normal. She felt her joints give out, as the corners of vision grew fuzzy. She was fading fast.

He caught her, pulling her body to his, and she had no to choice but to grasp at his shirt. "Felicity, hold on to me tight."

Uncontrollably, she laughed. And then she snorted at how giddy her voice sounded, which brought on another giggle. "Ele...bator..." was all she numbly managed to get out. Her lips felt too heavy.

The last thing Felicity remembered before the world turned black was his large, protective arms hoisting her legs off the ground. She was suspended in the air, leaning against his chest, her fingers curling around the soft tee material. She wasn’t sure if she was already dreaming as his soothing voice rumbled against her side and wafted through her thoughts. "I suppose these qualify as platonic circumstances."

 

—x—x—x—x—x—

 

Felicity awoke to the jostling rhythm of footsteps. Instinctively, she clung to his chest, pressing her head more deeply into the nook of his shoulder. His arms shifted, his secure hold tightening. She blinked a few times until her vision became less blurry, and she could focus on the objects and people in her line of sight. They were still in Starling, but where exactly in the city, she couldn’t identify. These streets were largely unoccupied, the apartments and buildings mostly abandoned.

He walked with a steady, guarded purpose, but still he didn’t appear to be in much of a hurry. However this "time machine" worked, clearly the device would be operating on the Oliver Queen schedule.

Maybe it was the leftover, drugged-induced cobwebs in her head, but Felicity suddenly wondered why she was awake at this point. Even in her hazy memories, she recalled him saying something about her not being conscious for the ride over.

And just like that, the universe decided to clear everything up for Felicity Smoak, throwing her a nasty curveball.

They passed an iron sign, coated with rust and graffiti. But Felicity was still able to make out the words, and when she did, she felt her heart drop.

_Star City. Founded in 2016._

Oh frack. She was definitely not in Starling City anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN...
> 
> Hopefully, I will be posting new chapters more frequently over the winter hiatus. This one was supposed to be up last week, but real life got in the way. My ultimate goal is to finish this story before January premiere...ha, we'll see how that goes. Anyway, thanks for reading.


	3. To Parallelity and Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Oliver Queen's universe holds more surprises than even Felicity can imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m really behind on updating this and for that I apologize! Thanks for your patience, readers. I’ve had so many “real life” things to take care of, and I also started another AU, the first chapter of which should be posted sometime this weekend. Thus, I am obviously not going to make my Jan 21 deadline (that was a pipe dream anyway). Hypothetically, the next chapter should be up sooner, since I’ve already got it mostly written. Anyway, thanks again for your interest and support of this story! I won’t keep you waiting any longer.

|| THE OTHER UNIVERSE | 2024 ||

 

“Put me down. Put. Me. Down.” She struggled, pushing against his hold.

Oliver came to a halt, and those fierce blue-gray eyes turned on her, roaming over every inch of her body with deep concern. Felicity swallowed under his direct examination, as he locked his jaw and did that irritated head tilt thing of his. Finally, he sighed, sagging his shoulders and lowering her body so she could slide out of his arms. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she wobbled, tripping over asphalt.

“Woah.” He grabbed her arm to steady her.

“I’m fine,” she breathed. She tested the odd pavement, tapping her foot in a variety of places. The ground was solid but bounced with rubberish quality, almost like paint on the verge of drying. Or maybe the drug was still working its way out of her system. When Felicity finally got her bearings, she held up an index finger and gave him a pointed look. “I’m fine.”

After a long pause, he took a single step back, lingering on the fringe of her personal bubble. Felicity nervously brushed at her pants, frowning at the unusually heavy droop in her arms. She looked down at the green mass devouring her body. She was still in his jacket. Pulling at the zipper, she shot him a sideways peek. “You should probably have this back.”

“There’s no rush,” he said, and his calm tenor made her stop unzipping. His faithful gaze caught and held hers again, causing her stomach to flip. Would he ever stop looking at her like _that?_ As though reading her thoughts, he tipped his head, watching her like she was Bambi in the forest, like she was a treasure he wanted to hide away, so no one else in the world would ever find her.

Maybe it was the seriously elongated gap in their ages, but Felicity was starting to feel more like a porcelain doll than a partner. Clearing her throat, she took a generous step away from him. Then she took another, slowly treading down the street, shoving her hands into the warm, inviting pockets. Of course he followed her. While he didn’t necessarily crowd her, he was certainly pushing the comfort envelope. Even in the dim lighting, she could sense how much the mere feet of separation troubled him.

Felicity took the opportunity to survey the surrounding buildings, hoping for some touch of recognition in this eerie place. Aside from the distant metropolis glow, most structures were largely caked in darkness. Her pupils slowly adjusted to the lack of street lights, and she could perceive the outlines of unlit windows and monochromatic doors.  

“So are you ever going to tell me how the magical, time-traveling device got us here in one piece?” He remained obnoxiously silent. Felicity huffed. “Fine. _Be_ secretive. But just so you know, I _will_ figure it out one way or another.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” She could hear the almost-smile in his voice.

“So you have no objections if I just research my way out of this macrocosm you’ve dragged me to?”

He chuckled. “Felicity, I learned a long time ago that if you want to do something, there’s little I can do to stop you.”

“Except drug me apparently.”

“Except that.” She felt, more than saw, his impish glance. “Though, as a rule, I tend to only drug the people I care about at most once a year, so you should consider yourself safe for the next 364 days.”

In spite of herself, Felicity smiled at this little game they were suddenly playing. A strange warmth slid down her belly. Was he _flirting_ with her? She knew that thought should not make her glow and tingle all the way down to her toes the way that it did, but she had to admit it was nice to see a facet of playful Oliver again—even if this wasn’t her Oliver. A fact she apparently had to keep reminding herself.

Felicity shook her head, berating her rapid mind for its foolish thinking patterns. The man had just _kidnapped_ her. _He_ currently held the ace. And yet, he was respectfully giving her the distance she craved—or at least, granting her the illusion of freedom, in the same way one might let a leashed dog lead. And then Felicity felt guilty for appreciating his attention, when she should be dwelling on the reality that she was currently trapped in the wrong universe, with the wrong Oliver. But could she really _hate_ him? She wanted to. Oh, she desperately did. But Felicity was beginning to think she didn't have it in her to hate Oliver Queen, in any universe.

They stopped when they reached the street corner. Glancing both directions, Felicity frowned at the utter lack of city activity. It must’ve been much later than it appeared. Did the earth rotate on a different axis in this solar system?

“Which way?” she asked.

“Right,” he said as he came up beside her.

No sooner had the words left him than a cascade of light flooded the street. Felicity covered her eyes with her hand, squinting up at the blinding object buzzing overhead and sending out gusts of wind in every direction. As it got closer, Felicity’s hair began to whip around her. From what she could perceive, the sleek, circular device exhibited similar behavior to that of a helicopter, only it was smaller and much quieter.

Before she could fully register what was happening, Oliver dove towards her, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the shadows. He thrust her backwards, pushing her back into a nook in the alley wall beneath a fire escape. Pressing close, he forced her body against the cold brick, his sturdy hands resting on either side of her shoulders.

Hidden from the unidentifiable flying object, Felicity now felt more in danger than ever. He was breathing down her neck, his lips hovering far too close to her skin. A fiery, throbbing tension broke out inside her gut, goosebumps popping up along her arms and heat flooding her cheeks. While his eyes remained hidden in the shade, she felt his strong heart racing beneath her hand lying on his chest.

Felicity suddenly recalled the way he had kissed in the foundry when he’d first seen her, and involuntarily she licked her lips. “What’s going on?” she heard herself ask, her voice strangely breathy. She could kick herself for that question. At present, there was a lot _going on_ , but very little of it had to do with the object overhead. Except Felicity couldn’t kick herself, because currently her leg muscles were unavailable to he, her right leg stuck in between his.

“Curfew,” he said simply.

“There’s a curfew here?”

He groaned his answer. “It’ll pass in a minute.”

Felicity leaned her head back against the brick, silently moving her lips as she counted off mississippis. Frankly, she had to focus on _something_ other than the insatiable proximity of his chest against hers. Was it really necessary for him to stand this close?

When he shifted, Felicity got distracted and lost count, so she switched over to reciting as many digits of pi as she could remember. Before she could finish, the hovercraft floated away, the light fading as quickly as it had appeared.

Oliver pulled back, and a relieved breath escaped her at the release of his weight. He slowly backed further onto the sidewalk. As her eyes re-adjusted, she watched him survey the roofs overhead with an intense tracker scrutiny. When he seemed satisfied that the machine had in fact disappeared, he held out his hand to her. “Come on. They never check the same place twice in one night, but we should avoid Main Street the rest of the way.”

 _The rest of the way to where?_ Felicity wanted to ask. But already she was learning that questions merely bounced off him or led to more questions. He seemed bulletproof to her curiosity. So, she sighed and reluctantly stepped forward to place her hand in his. She could swear his shoulders dropped at her touch.

They zigzagged through alleyways mostly, with him hauling her aching body along. The longer they walked, the more weary she grew. “How much further?” she burst out.

“Almost there. Don’t tell me your feet are giving out.”

His face was impassive except for a raised eyebrow as he glanced at her legs. But she picked up on the humor in his tone. “Is Oliver Queen seriously mocking me right now?”

His lips turned up at that.

As they rounded another corner, Felicity came to a stop and gasped. She knew this area. Straight across the two-way street stood the rundown, four-story red brick structure; windows were boarded up with the remnants of construction, and two large clock faces were perched on either corner. She had been here before, the night Slade’s men attacked the city...the night _he_ first told her he loved her.

“You live in the clocktower?”

He grimaced. “More or less.”

“But...what happened to Verdant?”

He intently avoided her gaze. “There was an explosion two years ago.”

“Oh,” she breathed, wondering once again if _this_ was the cause of _her_ absence.

Silently, still hand-in-hand, they approached the tower. Oliver led her to a back entrance and typed in a seven-digit code, opening the door to reveal the concrete stairway.

“The elevator’s currently inoperable. If you want, I can carry you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in mock annoyance. “I think I can manage. I’ve come this far, right?”

And yet Felicity was surprised at how much of a struggle it was to actually just put one foot in front of the other. Her legs had suddenly turned to jello. As each step seemed to grow more steep than the last, Felicity clung to the railing just to keep from falling over. She felt his hand fixed on her back, guiding her up the three flights of stairs.

Finally, they reached a solid cement door on the third floor landing, one level below the clock. When he opened another number pad, Felicity leaned in to watch his fingers fly over the keys, trying to pick out the individual digits he was punching. He was quick. All she got was a 2 on the third digit and a 5 at the end. A series of three beeps chirped in affirmation, and the door slowly slid open of its own accord. Oliver waited on the threshold and motioned for her to go first. Felicity nodded her thanks. As she stepped inside, her bottom lip dropped.

The large, dimly-lit room was laid out rather similarly to what her team had in the foundry. The entire floor had been stripped of its individual rooms and walls, leaving just the main supporting columns across the floor. Painted a deep eggplant color, the room felt heavy, almost like being underground. The ceiling was a little lower than the basement she was used to, so the large area felt tighter despite it’s wider space. Not a single window was open.

It reminded her of one of those crime scenes, where they turned out all the normal lights in order to use UV. The bulbs hanging from the ceiling projected a peculiar rainbow glow. When she looked directly into the light and then looked away, Felicity was surprised that there was no lingering blind spot in her vision. She blinked, darting her eyes back and forth, but the result was the same each time. Hmm. Well, this was the future. Maybe they’d finally perfected that side-effect of electricity?

As she scanned the premises, she noticed mats and training equipment placed directly in the center of the room. A metal table held a variety of weapons laid asunder, including guns and a few bows. She bit the inside of her cheek when she spotted what was clearly his compound bow, sleek and long—and so obviously _green_.

Against the farside right wall were two cots, with a black curtain hanging in between, like a hospital wing. Two brown leather couches sitting across from each other and a small wooden coffee table formed a makeshift dining area. Felicity noticed leftover Chinese takeout haphazardly tossed around. The place was a classically disheveled mancave.

Was this what Verdant had been like for them? Or was the obvious lack of feminine touch the issue now? The place _looked_ like a base of operations, but it lacked energy, it lacked organization. Instead, the floor reminded her of that empty space she and Diggle had tracked Oliver to the day of his mother’s funeral. What was it he’d said? _A secondary facility, in case the foundry was compromised._

She was certain this Oliver thought the same way, which meant.... “What about the secondary facility?” she turned to find him, surprise surprise, watching her with intensity.

“This _is_ the secondary facility,” he said.

Felicity pouted her lips and nodded, twisted to the left and broke out into a smile when she saw two targets placed directly over where the windows would be. Then her eyes rested on what was arranged in front of the targets. Felicity’s mouth went dry. Two immense, sleek black monitors sat catty-corner to the windows.

Uncontrollably, she walked forward to peruse the screens, her hands shaking at all the icons and buttons, offering more futuristic promises than she could even begin to decipher. “Oh, you beautiful babies,” she said, as she ran her hands over every inch of the sleek glass. Rubbing her lips together, she hit the first icon she saw and giggled when a hologram emerged, opening like pop-up book, showing the weather forecast for the next two weeks.

“Okay, that is cool. And it actually, according to this, it is going to be cool this weekend. Well, it’s nice to see this universe has done something right.”

The door reopened and slid shut just as quickly. Felicity barely had time to turn to see who had joined them, when the newcomer’s cry froze her in place.

“Mom!”

Felicity’s jaw hit the floor. A tall and thin, freckle-faced teenage boy practically lit up as he approached. Before she could respond, he raced across the room, barreling into her. He scooped her body up into his pole-like arms, lifting her feet a few inches off the ground, as though she were a feathered pillow and not a grown person. He hugged her tightly, burying his head in her neck.

Over his shoulder, Felicity made eye contact with Oliver. _Mom?_ she mouthed to him. He was annoyingly unreadable at the moment, merely shrugging in response before the teenager set her down.

Felicity huffed when he released her. She was speechless, her heart pounding into overdrive—he was at least three inches taller than her. He still had his hands on arms, rubbing her muscles up and down soothingly, in a way that was uncanny to Oliver, watching her with that same quiet expectancy.

Mom? Really? She was a mom in this life, too? Immediately, Felicity began taking inventory. He had so many of Oliver's features—his sandy brown hair, those piercing sea-colored eyes, even his smile was the same. As she studied him, she became fixated on his diverging eyes; his left eye was more deeply cobalt than his right, which held a softer, greenish tint. The combination was mesmerizing. Felicity tried to find pieces of herself in his face, but there didn't seem to be anything superficially recognizable.

The longer she observed him, the more puzzled she became. Exactly how old was this child? He was still going through puberty, that was obvious. But he had to be at least fifteen or sixteen. When exactly had this other Felicity and this Oliver had time to have a child together? While she was still in college?

The tall teen before her frowned and tilted his head, shifting his weight back and forth in a mannerism that screamed Oliver Queen. There was an innocent curiosity behind his eyes, however, that did not resemble Oliver at all. He certainly was an odd blend of two very conflicting personas.

"I always wanted to know what you’d look like with glasses, and I now I do." He beamed at her. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, to leave your life behind and everything. I-I know it couldn't have been easy. But Dad and I really appreciate it.”

Felicity’s mouth popped open, and she sent a startled look over to Oliver as a fire welled up inside her chest. The crazy man hadn’t told his kid what was really going on. Her vocal chords tightened as she tried to speak, but no sound came out. Seeing the utter joy written on his face...she stopped. She couldn’t crush him with the truth. So Felicity just nodded gently, offering him a half-smile.

Sheer gratitude crossed Oliver’s face as he stepped in, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. "Hey, Felicity's had a rough ride here. She needs rest, okay?"

The kid turned and smiled at Oliver as though he were Santa Claus. "Sure, Dad. Glad to have you back." He twisted away from her, and the two men embraced in a tight hug, which was as bizarre as it was oddly natural to see. Oliver’s face visibly softened when they parted. In typical male fashion, they swatted each other on the back, before the kid shot her another smile—which she leisurely reciprocated; he was easy to smile back at, even if she was currently confused out of her mind--and then he strolled over to the computers to type away, his back to both of them.

After an avoiding pause, Felicity pursed her lips and finally brought her eyes up to resume contact with... _Alternate_ Oliver. He was impassive, his expression stoic, giving nothing away, leaving her nothing as to indicate what was going on in that irrationally stubborn head of his. Except she caught it. She caught the flicker of victory spark behind his eyes.

That knocked her bubbling indignation over the edge. She wasn’t even entirely sure which action of his (or lack of action) had her so furious at the moment: that he’d taken her or that he’d lied to his son about it. All she knew was that she needed...something. Space. Yes. She needed separation from this man before she did something irrational, like slap him again. Though, in her defense, he looked like he could use a healthy dose of reality.

Before she could rationalize her way out of it, Felicity unzipped his jacket and thrust it into Oliver’s chest. “I need some air,” she said as she stomped out of the room. The door reacted on its own at her approach, sliding open when she was about three feet away. Heaving with the desire to run, Felicity realized she had nowhere to run to. Studying the gray staircase, she knew she had only one option.

Felicity darted up the stairs, which seemed less steep than before. But the mere flight was enough to make her head feel light and dizzy, like she’d crossed a level in the atmosphere.

The top floor, housing the broken clockface, was nearly identical to what she recalled of the one time she’d unpleasantly visited this building back home...before ARGUS had proceeded to blow it up. Plastic sheets hung from various metal rods, blowing occasionally like drying clothes on a line. Felicity approached a cracked window to look out at the abandoned street.

It was darker here, so when she glanced to the sky, she could see the stars. They were _everywhere_ , too innumerable to count, sprinkled across the black sheet like glitter, winking at her, mocking her in her torment.

Almost as if her heart knew what she wanted before her mind did, Felicity’s eyes began darting in every direction, searching through the endless dots, many in arrangements she had no name for. She had been right. The stars here were different.

And then, she saw _him_. His belt caught her attention first, and then she scanned further up to the outline of his club overhead, down to the right, to the beast he had killed. Orion. He was here.

Felicity’s lips trembled, and she covered her mouth as the first tear slipped over her eyelid. She sunk to her knees on the windowsill, the dam she had been working all night to keep at bay crumbling to pieces. For the first time in weeks, Felicity _wept_ , she wept for the Oliver she’d lost to a league of criminals and for a life of possibilities she’d left behind. Pulling her arms in tight, she rocked herself as she shook, whether from the cold or the waterfall cascading down her face, she didn’t know and didn’t care.

Eventually—minutes or hours later, Felicity didn’t know—her sobs began to lessen and fade. As her breathing adjusted, she let out a few squeaks that were almost hiccups. The sudden loss of weight in water made her feel _relieved_ and sucked dry.

She didn’t hear him draw near.

Her shoulders flinched as soft fleece was draped over her body. Involuntarily, her fingers grasped the edges and pulled the blanket in tighter, cocooning her frame in insulation. Felicity suddenly panicked. How long had he been standing there, listening to her fit?

“I take it you get cold at night, too?” he breathed, his voice so gentle it made her look up at him. Even in his profile, she could see the mask slipping. As her eyes started moving down, she caught his hand twitching. Her lips wobbled again, and she had to look away. Yeah, he’d probably heard every last sob.

“Are you ever going to let me out of your sight?” she asked.

“And risk you running off?” he whispered. His voice was collected and gentle, and yet Felicity could feel the threat, feel the _pain_ wafting off him.  

Felicity sniffed, wiping water off her cheeks. “And where exactly do you think I'm going to run off to? I’m pretty much stuck here now, aren’t I?” She huffed and waved earnestly to the empty street.

He didn’t answer her, which served to affirm her rhetorical statement.

As the warmth of the blanket penetrated her, Felicity felt rationale and normalcy begin to flow through her veins once again. “You should have told me.”

He sighed, leaning against the window frame. “I know. But what good would that have done? You'd have been even less likely to come with me.”

“Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice either way. You know, a quick, 'Hey, by the way, I have a kid' wouldn't have gone amiss!”

He shrugged. “We have a kid.”

Felicity shot him a look. “Yeah, and he's huge. I mean, when exactly were you and other me married?”

His face fell. “About that...”

“Oh God.” She stood up. “Did you get her pregnant during your playboy days and then have to marry her?”

His head snapped up. “What? No. That is...” He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I got someone else pregnant.”

“You had an affair?!” she shouted.

“Shh. No. This was long before I met you...her. This was during...while I was with Laurel.”

Felicity let out a breath. "I'm sure Laurel wasn't too happy about that."

“She never found out. My mom paid the mother to keep quiet about it, to make everyone think she'd lost the baby. For years, I didn't know. But then she died in a car accident, and she'd kept a record somewhere that I was the father. When it happened, we—you and me—we were together. And I wanted to help. So we found Connor and kind of adopted him.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, after he learned who I was, he insisted on being a part of all this, of my life. Said he wanted to get to know the real me. He wanted to do what I do.” He sighed a laugh, rubbing a hand through his hair again, but this time the discomfort and shame had vanished. Instead, something akin to pride was growing behind his eyes. “He was so obsessed with the Arrow, how could I say no?”

Felicity thought about the way her Oliver had reacted to the idea of baby Sara being brought into the foundry, how he was so blatantly opposed to bringing anyone into the Arrow’s life. “And so you just let him participate in your crusade? What about her family? What about his safety?”

He pressed his lips together firmly. “Outside of the team, Connor has no one. Her family...when they found out who the father was, they cut her off.”

That struck her. “Why?”

“I’m not exactly the most popular person in this city.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. Shocker. “So how do you balance being Oliver Queen and the Arrow, along with having a wife and kid?”

“I don't,” he answered simply. “You'll find things here aren't especially complicated. Which makes it all the more dangerous.”

She sighed, growing increasingly irritated by the second. The communication rollercoaster was enough to make her start pulling out her hair. When she re-examined the man beside her, the masked had slipped again.

With her Oliver, Felicity could somehow always tell whatever he was feeling, as though he had the power of reverse empathy, thrusting his emotions on whoever was in a thirty-foot radius of him. Or maybe she was the only one affected so deeply by his burdens. She felt even less immune to this Oliver. She saw the raw pain brimming on the surface. _Her_ loss was clearly still an open wound to him.

Suddenly, a geared clicked in place in her mind, and for the first time since he’d bursted into the foundry and stolen her from her life, Felicity understood. She took a hesitant step towards him. “This is why you brought me here isn't it? For him.”

He swallowed, looking her straight in the eye, and that was confirmation enough. “I know what it's like not having your mom, how it affects you. I don’t want that for him.”

Felicity sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Just when I thought Oliver Queen couldn't be any more selfless,” she muttered. Then she pointed a finger at him, raising her voice in determination. “This doesn’t change anything. I'm still mad at you. And don't think I won't leave as soon as an opportunity presents itself.”

Something like relief passed over his face. He nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”

“But really, I'm not exactly mother material. I didn't have such a good role model.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “And I did? You know she said the same thing, when we found out about him.” He nodded to the wall.

“Well, glad to know we share more than computers, hair, and you—” She squinted. “Sorry. That sounded wrong.” She licked her lips, trying again. “This isn’t fair, Oliver. You basically Peter Panned me and now you want to throw me to a lost boy?”

He laughed.

Felicity crossed her arms. “What? I do _not_ find this funny.”

He held up an surrendering hand. “I know. I'm sorry. It's just...I forgot how nice this is.” He motioned back and forth between them.

She raised her eyebrows. “What, arguing? Me criticizing you? Well, why didn't you say so earlier?”

He tipped his head. “It's been a while since someone spoke to me...in this way. I’ve missed it.”

She snorted, though her anger evaporated. “With babbling insults?” she teased.

His eyes danced with amusement. “Something like that.”

Letting out a frustrated groan, Felicity looked up at the ceiling. “Ugh. Why can’t I just hate you like I’m supposed to?”

“Guess I have one of those faces,” he said dryly, taking a step toward her.

She shook her head, and something behind his shoulder caught her attention. She peeked around his massive body, and he frowned, twisting to follow her line of sight. Felicity’s mouth popped open as she spotted her Robin Hood poster hanging on the wall.

Oliver let out a deep exhale. “We somehow managed to salvage it...after everything happened.”

Striving for lightness, Felicity said, “You know, I got that poster long before I met you, back when I was—”

“When you were at M.I.T.,” he finished, offering her a quick, sympathetic grin. “I'm well aware of how little your world revolves around me.”

Until he decided to uproot her whole world, that is. Felicity pursed her lips. “Okay, so since I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, I think we should establish a few ground rules.”

He twisted back to re-face her completely. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I guess I’d like to know _exactly_ what it is you want,” she answered. When he raised an eyebrow, she quickly finished. “For me to do. That is. For Connor,” she clarified, suddenly flustered.

His lips twitched for a moment as he contemplated, before replying, “Connor’s got a lot of potential. But he needs guidance.” He chuckled. “He certainly can be a handful.”

“No doubt he gets that from you.” Felicity paused, growing serious again. “You should tell him the truth.”

He sighed. “I will. You know, _taking_ you wasn’t the original plan.”

“Oh really? So what were you intending to do, Mr. Queen? Persuade me with your vigilante charm and the promise of living in a tower?”

He just shook his head and leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“And just so we're clear. This _thing”—_ she made a gag face as she waved between them—“ _Not_ happening, buster, okay? We are strictly platonic.”

He frowned, crossing his arms, looking at her in a very puzzled manner. It took a moment, but his face visibly warped when his thinking finally caught up to hers. He shifted on his feet, looking highly uncomfortable. Was he blushing? Did Oliver Queen _blush_ in this life? Clearing his throat, he answered, “Trust me, that is the _last_ thing you have to worry about from me.”

She nodded her approval.

“Now, what is it _you_ want right now, Felicity Smoak?”

She bobbed her head, feeling a mischievous grin tugging at her the corners of mouth. “I want to see your computers.”

He flashed a relaxed smile. “Well, that might be tricky. Thanks to you, my son loves electronics more than he does shooting arrows.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just let you know now: the next chapter will take place in "our" universe (2015), thus we'll see how Team Arrow handles Felicity's disappearance. Chapter 5 is where we'll pick up with the parallel universe. From here on out, chapters will more than likely bounce back and forth between universes, so be prepared for time jumps! Thanks again for reading!


	4. The White Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As John and Roy continue their search for Felicity, Oliver returns to Starling City, only to meet with two very big surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m still here!! I apologize for the extreme delay, darling readers. My muse has been misbehaving. Also, the plot for this story kind of mutated, and there were several details I had to sort out before proceeding. (HOW DID THIS CHAPTER END UP THIS LONG?)
> 
> Just a note on the thinking behind my writing: As you know, this story began with canon divergence around 3x09—basically what would have happened if Oliver had joined the League instead of being killed. Thus, some of my writing is canon-themed but not canon in actuality. Characters will have similar motivations, and there will be future events which coincide with the show but happen in a different manner. Hope this makes sense, and I hope you enjoy the result! Thanks for sticking with this story!

|| OUR UNIVERSE | LATE JANUARY 2015 ||

 

To wait without reprieve was unnerving.

John Diggle considered himself a patient man. He’d endured a lot of obstacles in his day and yet generally managed to keep his cool—war, family, hell _babysitting_ Oliver Queen. Now, with the kid in a red hoodie restlessly pacing alongside the computers, he felt the last of his efforts waning.

“Man, I _cannot_ concentrate with you hovering around me like a bee.”

The foot tapping ceased. “Any word from Lyla?”

John shook his head, releasing a worn, defeated exhale. He leaned into the table as he studied the bleakly empty computer screens, each one mocking him with unharnessed potential.

Not twenty minutes into Felicity's disappearance, John had sought help from his fiancée Lyla, who unfortunately required permission from her employer prior to offering aid. The subsequent deal was fairly simplistic: after ARGUS helped locate the missing Miss Smoak, John would serve with the Suicide Squad on their next impossible mission. Currently, ARGUS agents were still scouring the western hemisphere, running down every possibly lead, looking into anyone Felicity had special dealings with—William Tockman, Vertigo, and even a certain prisoner confined to a supermax on Lian Yu. (Lyla had assured him that weekly island updates reported Slade Wilson remained secure.)

Meanwhile, after days of endless searching, Roy and John were exhausted, run down from saving the city in smaller two-person ops and devoting every free minute they could spare to tracking Felicity Smoak. Every nightly patrol ended with a brief search. Every prisoner drop-off included a follow-up with Captain Lance. Even Barry and his team were helping the cause when they could, though, as fast as Barry was, he couldn’t aimlessly run forever. He had to know where to run _to_.

To the rest of the public Laurel Lance provided a well-fabricated tale, in which Miss Smoak had needed to take some personal time to visit family in Las Vegas. Thankfully, Ray Palmer wasn’t asking too many questions. Although with no clues to follow, there was little to lie about anyway. For ten agonizing days there had been not even a scrap of decent evidence to go on. No video surveillance to time stamp. No fingerprints to run through a database. Nothing.

**_Don’t try to find me. You can’t. I’m so sorry, John._ **

Felicity’s final words frequented his mind almost hourly these days.

Hell, if he couldn’t. First Oliver. Now Felicity. So help him, John Diggle would bring his team home or die trying. There had to be a way, even if his friends appeared to have vanished off the face of the earth.

“There has to be something we haven’t thought of yet,” said Roy. “People don’t just evaporate.”

John let out a strained chuckle in agreement. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Roy went to grab his bow, when an alarm went off just before the foundry door burst open, thick metal banging against the cement wall. Both men spun to see a figure draped in a black hood and designated League apparel rapidly descend the stairs into the foundry.

John pulled out his handgun, keeping the hooded man with a quiver on his back in his line of sight. “Merlyn,” John practically growled out, gritting his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

The man in black came to a halt, holding up gloved hands in surrender. After a long pause, the hood was shoved back to reveal a stern, unmasked face.

“Oliver.” Roy smiled, darting across the room and pulling his mentor into a tight embrace, which Oliver stiffly reciprocated.

John felt all the air expel out of his body and then get sucked back in with rejuvenating energy. This seemed too good to be true. Oliver Queen was alive and well. Or at least, alive. His former brother-in-arms sported a shorter, buzzed haircut, a new furrow darkening his forehead and heavy bangs under tired eyes. The man looked worn, severely hardened, yet still intact. Whatever the League had done to him in the past month appeared to have stripped away pieces of vulnerability from his manner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said rigidly as he and Roy separated.

John shook his head in mock indignation, putting away his weapon before offering a handshake to Oliver. “No cell phones allowed in the assassins’ club, I take it?” John teased. “Black’s a good color on you.”

Oliver grunted his response, his lips barely twitching.

“How’d you get away from the League?” asked Roy.

“I didn’t,” he answered simply, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Ra’s Al Ghul sent me. It’s a preliminary probation period.”

John crossed his arms. “The League offers benefits now?”

Oliver released a grim sigh. “Ra’s wants me to eliminate Sara’s real killer, as a testament of loyalty. I have one week.”

A heavy beat of silence passed as John surveyed his friend. He could tell there was more to it than that, something Oliver was holding back. When he spoke again, his tenor dropped. “Oliver, I thought the whole point of you joining the League was so that you could _protect_ Thea from this.”

“Thea’s still protected,” he said. “It’s Malcolm.”

Understanding washed over John, and he nodded gravely.

Oliver continued, “Don’t ask me how, but Ra’s knows that Malcolm is the real reason Sara is dead, and he’s never forgiven Malcolm his other crimes, the undertaking, deserting the League…I have to kill him.”

“Look, I understand Ra’s wants justice—hell, we all do. But why does it have to be you who kills him? Why not just turn Malcolm over to the League—”

“It's not that simple,” Oliver interrupted gently. “Whether I kill him now, or I kill him later, it doesn’t matter. It’s...a right of passage to the League, eliminating a traitor. My final initiation test.”

“Initiation into what?” asked Roy, a frown creasing his forehead.

Oliver simply pressed his lips into a firm line, which John understood all too well. While Oliver wasn’t going to talk, clearly in his stubborn friend’s head there would be no highway option, which only served to irritate John all the more.

John shook his head, resigned. “Oliver, you knew when you signed up for this, that the day might come where you’d have to kill again.”

“Yes, but...I don’t want to be responsible for taking Thea’s real father away from her.”

“Even if he’s a bad influence on her?” John countered.

“He loves Thea.”

John rolled his eyes at the ceiling. As proud as he was of Oliver for his heroism absolutes, sometimes John thought about killing Malcolm himself. As a father, he couldn’t fathom the way the man had treated his own children. “Well, he’s got an interesting way of showing it.”

Oliver seemed to ignore that remark.“I still have a few days to...think of an alternative plan.” Sighing, Oliver glanced around the room with a new fervor, as though noticing the vast, quiet space for the first time. “Is Felicity at the office?”

John and Roy exchanged a concerned look, but then Roy just shrugged. “Don’t look at me, man. You’re the one who lost rock-paper-scissors on this one.”

John grunted. “Yeah, I remember.”

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked, his undertone saturated with anxious concern. This was going to be worse than actually losing her in the first place.

John took his time, choosing his next words carefully. “Listen, Oliver, you need to prepare yourself.”

Oliver tipped his head and locked his jaw, already sensing that something was wrong. When his friend hesitated again, Oliver took a heavy stride forward. “Where is she?” he asked roughly.

John sighed heavily, feeling too deflated to keep up the charade any longer. Finally, he told him bluntly, “We haven’t heard from Felicity in almost two weeks.”

“What?” Oliver barked in his Arrow voice, anger boiling just below the surface.

“She disappeared a few weeks after you did,” John explained. “We don’t know how it happened. One night, we came down here and...and she was gone.”

Oliver didn’t respond, seemed physically incapable of responding, as his shoulders went rigid and expression turned stony.

“There’s something you need to hear.” Slowly, John pulled out his phone. Somewhere in the middle of that dreadful goodbye conversation, he’d had the good sense to hit record. Though he put the message on speaker, John hardly heard a word, having overanalyzed every piece of this message a hundred times. Instead, he watched as the valiant warrior crumbled before his very eyes.

_“I’m not coming back. Don’t ask why. I-I can’t tell you. Just know that I’m safe."_

Oliver quickly glanced at John, blinking a question, to which John responded with a slight nod, a silent truth passing between them. Despite her breathy assurances over the line—or perhaps, because of them—John suspected their girl hadn’t wanted to go willingly. Clearly Oliver was picking up the same vibe.

_"Thank you...for protecting my family. You’re my family, John. You and Roy and...and Oliver."_

When she gasped his name, Oliver’s shoulders drooped, his entire body seeming to wilt. His face twisted perversely, eyebrows pulling together in pained confusion.

_"Promise me, you’ll tell him. W-when he comes back—if he comes back—will you tell him...that I love him? You know he’ll blame himself for this. You can’t let him think that it’s his fault I’m gone. It’s not. It’s nobody’s fault."_

Oliver swallowed deeply, his hawk eyes fixated on the phone in precise misery, as though trying to bring to life the woman behind the words. While he appeared to be more than a little shaken, John detected a quiet, intense storm surging behind those watery eyes.

_“This is just something that I have to do. Don’t try to find me. You can’t. I’m so sorry, John."_

Her voice broke, and the call abruptly ended.

In the pulsing silence that followed, Oliver’s attention shifted to the empty chair in front the computers...her chair. He trudged over to the seat with solemn grace, as though approaching a throne. With a shaking hand, his arm hovered over the place where her shoulder would normally be, until finally he rested his hand on the seat, tightly digging fingers into the fabric.

“Oliver, I know what you’re thinking—”

“No, you don’t. How could you let this happen?” he growled darkly.

“You think I _wanted_ this?” John shot back. “Oliver, if there’s anyone who wants to find Felicity most it’s us. We've been at this every day.”

“And look what you’ve accomplished!” Oliver roared, pushing off the chair in a fury. He paced the foundry like a caged tiger, his head in his hands.

John thought it best to continue speaking reason, before Oliver snapped and did something erratically irrational—like punch a wall. “I understand that you’re upset, and you have every right to be. But if it was a ransom, the person who took her would have contacted us by now. And we have no reason to suspect that she may be...” he couldn’t finish that thought; he didn’t have to.

“She’s _alive_ ,” Oliver whispered miserably. “She has to be.” And at last John saw the quiet, trembling fear his friend was struggling to keep at bay. This was the man who would do anything to protect the woman he loved.

A spark of rage seemed to electrocute his body into acute awareness. One moment, Oliver looked on the verge of collapsing, and in the next, he stood taller, surer in his resolve. With the finesse of a soldier, he regulated his breathing, a new mask falling into place. Oliver’s cold, calculating presence sent a slimy, uneasy feeling down John’s spine, like the warning before a tornado. This was neither The Arrow nor the Oliver Queen he knew. No, this was the weapon the League had been forging—sharper, deadpan, and all the more dangerous.

Oliver swallowed deeply and made a fist. “Tell me you have something,” he said, his hollow tone eerily calm.

John shook his head. “There’s no surveillance. We’ve looked all over Starling. Even ARGUS hasn’t picked her up anywhere yet.”

“You brought Amanda Waller into this?” Oliver spat out, looking utterly betrayed, like he’d sooner have believed someone revealing his secret to the entire city.

“Oliver, you were gone,” Roy calmly explained. “What choice did we have? We thought it might have been the League, using her as an incentive, but we had no way of tracking either of you to know for sure.”

Oliver scraped a hand down his face.

“You think it could be Ra’s? Trying to mess with your head?” said John.

Oliver’s head bobbed in uncertainty. “I’ll admit, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. Could be another one of his tests.” John’s curiosity peeked, but his friend didn’t elaborate. Instead, he pressed his lips together in a thin line, calculating. “Did you at least figure out where the call originated?”

John hated that sound of false hope he knew he had to crush. Reluctantly, he shook his head.

Oliver only nodded gruffly and then spun to leave.

“Where are you going?” called Roy.

“To do a patrol,” Oliver called back, flying up the stairs as quickly as he’d entered.

“I can go with you,” Roy pleaded.

Oliver stopped, lingering on the top step. He turned his head back a few degrees. “I’ll come back when I’ve found something,” he said gravely..

“And what do you expect to find in one night?”

When Oliver spoke again, it was in a hoarse, threatening tone that neither of his teammates recognized. “Answers.” The word bounced off the concrete walls, echoing across the gloomy basement. And with that, the foundry door slammed shut, leaving Roy and John to resume their neverending night of waiting.

 

—x—x—x—x—x—

 

The crisp evening air constricted leather against skin. Every anxious breath he took slammed ice down his throat, awakening his already tingling senses, while soothing the fire in his belly. The chill on the streets was an easy distraction from the cosmic battle raging within himself. He wandered the streets in a fury, looking for invisible clues, hunting a ghost. Yet he couldn’t cease moving. If he stopped, it’d be like giving up.

His grip on the bow tightened and untightened and retightened. Over and over again, his fingers flexed. He felt like he needed to hit something. Or someone.

Oliver let the rage take over, the toxic, searing relief seeping through his veins. He hadn’t lost control like this in years. It felt good to let the beast out again. And suddenly, the cold was nothing. He hardly felt it anymore.

Part of him was angry he hadn’t come back sooner. Part of him was angry he’d left in the first place. This probably would never have happened had he just _been_ here. He’d joined the League to insure the safety of his loved ones, including her, his Felicity. Especially her. Always her. Every choice he’d made—from letting her walk away that damned night in a hospital hallway to forfeiting his soul to the demon—had been to keep her protected. What good were any of those self-giving acts now?

None of his sacrifices mattered anymore, not if she wasn’t safe.

**_Just know that I'm safe_ _._ **

_Safe_. The trigger word he always attributed to her. As that agonizing message replayed in his mind over and over again, he tortured himself by dwelling on every hitch in her breath, every speech inflection, every crack in her tone. She had been afraid. She hadn’t wanted to go. And he knew what that was like. He hadn’t wanted to leave either, not really. He needed her like he needed air.

When Ra’s Al Ghul had commanded him to return to Starling to settle the debt still owed the League, despite himself, Oliver’s first thought had been of her, of beholding once again those brilliant, accepting eyes, which always studied him with unrelenting compassion. It was hardly surprising, given that her warm gaze remained his first thought when he awoke before dawn, with the lingering taste of her lips overtaking his dreams every night.

She was the only thing he could dream about that wasn’t a nightmare. He saw feminine frames outlining inviting blue eyes. He saw her tipping her head and that little red pen being plucked from pink lips with a small _pop_.

He was breaking all the League rules. During training, he was instructed to think of nothing but the pain, to let the anguish swallow him whole, because only by embracing one’s darkest self could one overcome suffering. But when he trained, he thought of her hand against his skin, her fingers fitting in between his own like a silk glove, her touch healing his scars. And even when he ate, he thought of the way she playfully spun in her chair, her elegant ponytail swishing about her neck. His cyclic memories of her continued, like waves pounding against stone, eroding away the darkness.

Some unknown compass tugged at his heart, guiding him. Whether it was the desperate memories connecting him to her or the blinding desire to just do _something_ , he didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. If he never found her, he’d never forgive himself.

He only just passed a corner drugstore, when a sudden metallic clang brought him to a halt. Oliver’s head snapped in attention, his back straightening and reflexes singeing, lighting a fuse. Instinctively, he swiped out an arrow and aimed for the farthest corner of a small alleyway across the deserted road. His muscles tightened as he waited, listening, adjusting his fingers around the bowstring.

Finally, in the dim, hazy lighting, a hooded figure emerged. The bow went taut as he identified his optimum target. The shadows did little to hinder his accuracy. This was what he had trained for. His nerves were stretched, on edge; one deep breath, and he was ready to fire, when—

The body wobbled on unsteady feet, and after a slippery step, fell to the ground with a cry. Oliver swallowed, hesitating, and then lowered his bow, taking a few cautious steps closer.

“Who are you?” he called in his new League tone, the sound a little deeper and even more territorial than his Arrow voice. When he reached just under a ten-foot radius, he paused, realizing for the first time how petite the fallen figure was.

“Oliver?” rasped a very familiar female voice.

Oliver gulped, his heart pounding against his ribcage and sirens blaring in his ears, until finally the small head lifted up, and he met the eyes that haunted his dreams. Even in the dark, even with her face coated in soot, without glasses, strands of hair in disarray, there was no mistaking her.

His body reacted on its own. Dropping the bow, he darted towards her, lowering himself to her level. “Felicity,” he breathed like a prayer; simply to speak her name was salvation. Leaning in, Oliver ripped off his gloves and used one hand to help her stay vertical, while the other scraped her messy hair out of her eyes. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Quickly, his eyes scanned over her body with precision, looking for injuries, checking for wounds.

“Oliver. Is Thea okay?” she croaked, grasping his wrist with a fierce, iron hold, digging her nails into his clothing. “Please. Thea. Tell me,” she pleaded, her panicked eyes locked with his. “We can’t...we can’t let him get to her—”

“Shh, shh it’s okay. Thea’s okay,” he soothed her, brushing his thumb over her tear-stained cheek. “Let me take you home.”

“No! W-w-we can’t go back downtown.” She sounded panicked, desperate. As desperate as he felt. “Oliver, you have to promise me that you’ll take me to the secondary facility and nowhere else.”

Oliver paused, his mouth a tight, firm line, but then he nodded once. “I promise.”

Felicity whimpered, and she visibly relaxed at his words. She opened her mouth to say something else, when she suddenly swayed, gasping in pain.

“Hey hey, don’t try to move,” he said, gently tugging her into his arms. “Come here. I’ve got you.”

She just nodded drowsily, holding onto his loose League attire as he carefully scooped her up. As soon as her head pressed into his shoulder, she was out, safely snuggled against his chest. As he carried her across town, Oliver glanced down on occasion to observe her peaceful, sleeping form in his arms. Smiling briefly to himself, he recalled the night he’d carried her through Starling City just like this, one solemn evening that changed everything between them. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He relished being able to touch her again, warmth oozing through his veins like honey. He treasured the chance to do this one small service for her, after all the things she’d done for him, things he could never fully tell her because he hardly understood them himself. Oliver just knew he needed this woman. His sick dream had come true. She was found. She was safe. And now, at last, Oliver had come home.

 

—x—x—x—x—x—

 

The secondary facility, the dusty basement he hadn’t been to since the day of his mother’s funeral, remained untouched, everything exactly as he’d left it. Gently, Oliver laid Felicity on the large cot he’d set up in the far corner near the small target.

He wanted to call John, but he didn’t have his phone anymore. And neither did she apparently. He’d searched, cautiously running his fingers along her forest green leather jacket, which he couldn't help but notice was eerily identical to his former one. Even the hood was the same. Slimy ire dripped down the back of his throat...was the person who had made her disappear taunting him, taunting both the Arrow and Oliver Queen?

He couldn’t focus on that right now. He had to take care of the woman wearing his jacket. Despite everything, he smiled. Oliver had always fantasized what Felicity Smoak might look like under his hood, and he had to admit the real picture did not disappoint. Although seeing her dressed for war, an angel in sinner’s clothing, formed a strange knot in his stomach. He didn’t like to think of Felicity fighting battles on the streets.

Oliver couldn’t leave her alone, not now, not like this. So he sat himself on the edge of the cot. Carefully, he peeled the dirty leather from her body, slowly unzipping the hood and pulling one arm through the tight sleeve and then the other. Cupping the back of her head, Oliver raised her body up to gently cradle her against his chest like an infant, while he slid the leather out from under her, revealing her pale body in a form-fitting black tank top. He grabbed the fleece blanket at the end of the cot and covered her, pulling it all the way up to her chin, ensuring that she was properly shrouded in insulation.

For the next hour, Oliver cleaned her up. With the hood removed, he first worked his fingers through her hair, meticulously pulling out small pieces of glass. As he did, he frowned, struck by the stark change in her hair. Her long, classic sunshine waves bore streaks of ombre brown, getting increasingly darker on the way down, like the ends of her hair had been dipped in ink. Her hair was also cropped, shoulder-length.

Oliver tried to ignore the irrational disappointment stinging his heart at the odd change. Though she would always be beautiful, he had to admit he kind of missed her entirely golden head.

Finding a cloth and a bottled water, he worked to clean her face of the dirt stuck to her skin. When that was done, he finally settled back next to her, taking her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her skin in small strokes, his calloused fingers memorizing the placement of veins. He spent his time watching her stomach rise and fall with each precious breath.

As she slept peacefully, Oliver couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to tuck a few loose strands behind her ear, an easy excuse to brush his thumb over her cheek. It had been far too long since he’d touched her glorious skin.

At least another hour passed before Felicity’s head finally rolled, and a soft moan escaped her as she awoke. Blinking away drowsiness, her eyes fluttered open, locking with his almost instantly. “Oliver,” she breathed.

He barely had time to react, before she threw herself against his chest, clinging to his body desperately; she was shaking in his arms, her hands constantly moving across his back and neck, like she needed to touch every inch of him.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he whispered, pressing his chin into her shoulder, tightening his hold around her. They just held each other in silence for a while, each listening to the other breathing.

Felicity let go first, pulling back just enough to resume eye contact. Oliver smiled briefly, unable to stop himself from reaching up to run his fingers over her face, to stroke her cheek, to tuck another loose hair behind her ear.

She studied him intensely, her eyes bouncing all over his face, her mind clearly buzzing with a million questions. Something playful crossed her features, but he didn’t have time to understand it, before she grabbed his face, crashing her lips into his. He was too shocked to properly respond at first, but soon enough he started moving with her, an equal give and take—which frankly was much more forceful than he’d anticipated. She kissed him with zeal, with a raging fuel he’d always loved about her, but to experience her like _this_ went beyond his fantasies. She tasted better than he remembered, like springtime and salvation.

So he kissed her back, pulling her in close, the friction of delicious skin rubbing together sparked and fueled the inferno. He swallowed her soothing lips with his. When her fingers scratched his hair, he moaned into her mouth.

As his tongue danced with hers, the pressing torture of being away from her weeks was forgotten. Any coherent thought he’d been thinking evaporated. All he could smell and hear and feel for ten glorious seconds was Felicity. This was like drowning all over again, except it felt _good_. This was like getting drunk, except the intoxication was better because the aroma reached the very core of his being. This was hope and freedom and family all blended together in one searing mouthful. _This_ was exactly where he belonged, not as a vigilante, not as a puppet to the League, but simply being the man who loved Felicity Smoak with all that he had.

He never wanted this kiss to end.

But he had to stop. He had to let them breathe.

Finally, he broke away from her lips, and they gasped together, sharing air with the same ragged fervor.

A sadness swept over her, as she pressed her forehead back to his, still running his hair between her fingers, petting the creature that he was. “Please forgive me, Oliver,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He wiped away a falling tear from her cheek. “Hey, for what?”

She swallowed. “For what I did. For leaving you like I did.”

He sighed, shaking his head slightly. His hand lingered on her cheek while it made its way up to stroke her little ear and rub that blessed industrial piercing between his fingers. He just could not stop touching her. “It’s not your fault,” he said gently.

Her mouth began curving with the beginnings of a smile, when she suddenly stilled, tilting her head slightly as her eyes scanned up and down his figure. She raised an unapproving eyebrow. “Since when do you wear League regalia?”

Oliver chuckled. “Since a few weeks ago. I’m still not quite used to it, but it’s more comfortable than it looks.”

She frowned deeply and licked her lips. “How long have I been gone exactly?”

“About two weeks,” he answered, watching her with caution.

Deep in thought, she looked down at their entwined hands and gently stroked his calloused hands with a kind of reverence Oliver could hardly fathom. He was so caught up in studying that the sweet place where her forehead met her hairline that her horrified gasp startled him.

“What’s wrong?”

Tightly gripping his right hand, Felicity brought the appendage up for closer scrutiny, running shaking fingers over his skin. “Ваш шрам,” she whispered.

That took him aback. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly until she repeated it. “Что случилось с вашей шрам?” She seemed excessively confused as she touched him, turning his hand over and over, pressing each vein with delicate care. “Please tell me you didn't use that awful pit again.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Since when do you know Russian?” he asked gently.

Felicity looked up, watching him with the same puzzlement he felt. “Since you taught me,” she said, as though it were obvious.

With her eyes penetrating his own, he studied her with an equal intensity. And then he saw. He saw what his bliss-crazed mind had failed to notice. Through the window to her soul, Oliver recognized a skewed mistrust that he simply could not reconcile with the woman he knew. The jarring vision terrified him. What exactly had happened to the woman he loved while he’d been away?

She blinked, breaking contact to look about the room. “Where are we?” she breathed anxiously. “You promised you’d take me to the secondary facility.”

“This _is_ the secondary facility,” he said, slowly enunciating each syllable.

She squinted at him in unamusement, looking him over with new scrutiny, when suddenly her eyes went wide. He saw the switch go off, but he was half-a-second too late.

Her reflexes were on par with his, and she swiped out a small pistol he’d somehow missed, gripping the weapon with unusual expertise. “Who the _hell_ are you?” she cried, jumping up from the cot and backing away, the blanket slipping from her frame and falling to the ground. She was shaking, panting, sweating.

She was aiming at him.

Slowly, Oliver lifted his hands in surrender and stood up, nodding to the weapon she clung to. “Why don’t you put the gun down before you hurt yourself.”

She shook her head. “No, you do not get to tell me what to do. I am _not_ falling for this.”

“Falling for what?” he asked, his worry only growing.

“I don’t...I don’t even know why I’m still breathing right now or what this place is. Are you a shapeshifter? Is this some kind of metahuman-induced coma to get me to open up about the Green Arrow? Because I’m _not. talking_ ,” she spat out through gritted teeth, but he saw the terror looming behind her eyes.

“ _Green_ Arrow?” he parrotted.

She shut her eyes impatiently.

“Felicity,” he breathed, hoping she’d recognize the plea in the way he uttered her name. But hearing her name seemed only to make the situation worse. When he took a step towards her, she backed away, retreating from him in a strange tango. Oliver stilled, certain the bullet would’ve hurt less. Sighing, he let his arms fall. “You’re not going to shoot me. If you were, you would have done it already.”

He watched her gulp, and he could see the weapon drop a fraction of an inch. This time, when he came forward, she didn’t move away from him. He approached her steadily, until he stood less than a foot away, the pistol pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s _me_ , Felicity” he pleaded, searching her eyes for any semblance of truth he could, something to reel her back in to reality. And then—though he couldn’t explain why he did it; he just knew it was the right thing to do in the moment—he whispered it in Russian, “Это я.”

“Then where’s your ring?”

“What?”

“Your ring. Left hand. You never take it off. You’d sooner lose a finger, so if you’re _really_ Oliver Queen then you need to explain to me what is going on.”

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “But something’s happened to you. You’re not yourself.”

“Why should I believe you?” Her blue eyes pleaded with his, like a tossing ocean, desperate to anchor with him. She looked so lost, it startled him.

“Because you always have,” he answered gravely. “Feli-ci- _ty_.” As he murmured her name, for the first time he saw a flicker of the woman he knew emerge. He reached for her arm, and even though she stiffened under his touch, she didn’t pull away this time. “Let me help you. You can trust me. Look me in the eyes and tell me if I’m lying to you.”

Her pupils bounced back and forth like a pinball, watching him with severe speculation. One eternal second passed, and then her jaw relaxed. She blinked, and her eyes softened. She believed him.

Felicity swallowed, hesitating, until finally she relinquished the gun; he caught it, laying it on the nearest table, never looking away from her, not even daring to blink lest she disappear.

She desperately looked to him like he held all the answers, silently begging him for facts he simply could not give. “You’re him, but you’re not. I...I don’t understand, which for me is really saying something.” Her body visibly drooped as she released a weary exhale. She scratched her forehead, frowning with intense concentration. “Ugh, my brain hurts.”

“Hey, relax. Take a deep breath.”

Her eyes remained locked with his while her chest slowly expanded and contracted.

“Good. Now talk to me, Felicity.”

She obliged him, and Oliver was secretly satisfied that she was finally listening to him. “I remember the explosion, the heat of it all, but...it doesn’t make any sense. I _should_ be dead right now. I was ready to go.” When she looked at him again, Oliver could not comprehend the guilt, the confession in her eyes. But then she blinked, and it was gone. She was back to talking science.

Shaking her head, she muttered, “The force of the blast must have been strong enough to propel me...through what, a portal? Have I strayed into an alternative timestream?” She laughed once to herself, but then her eyes went wide, as she let out a panicked gasp. “Oh my god, he did it. Oh.” Suddenly she was firing off words a mile a minute, pacing away from him, and he was having trouble keeping up with her.

“But the device was supposed to _prevent_ this exact kind of thing from occurring, so unless a metahuman somehow tampered with the parameters...” Suddenly she stopped short and spun around, resuming eye contact with him. “Please tell me Ray Palmer exists over here.”

Oliver tipped his head. What portal? What device? While he may not have understood half of what she was uttering, Oliver _knew_ something was wrong. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she responded with a grimace.

Felicity scraped back her hair, squinting as though in pain. “Um, okay, I need you to answer me honestly and not look at me like I’m crazy.” Pausing, she licked her lips. When she spoke, she punctuated each word precisely and deliberately. “What year is it?”

“What?”

She shut her eyes, releasing an exasperated exhale. “Just tell me. Please. What. Year. Is. It?”

He hesitated, then answered simply, “It's 2015, Felicity.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth formed a large O. “2015? Oh frack. This is bad, bad, very bad. And who knows what I’ve already changed just by  _being_ here.”

“Felicity, what is going on? The truth please,” demanded Oliver.

She swallowed. “I'm not entirely sure. But I can make an educated guess. Just promise me that you won’t go postal, alright? And by postal, I don’t mean mail a package. I mean, you know, snap into vigilante mode—”

“Felicity—”

“I’m not the Felicity you know!” she cried, her words echoing off the basement walls in the awkward silence that followed.

Oliver frowned, still not fully understanding.

“I mean, I _am_ Felicity. It’s just...I think I came from someplace else?” She released a groan, wringing her hands together, hesitating. Finally, she smacked her lips, resigned, and raised her left hand. As she came closer, the light bounced off a tiny object—and a brick fell into his stomach. “I’m Felicity Smoak...Queen.”

His lips parted at the sight of an elegant, small silver band, a single diamond sparkling, taunting him with its beauty. “You’re—” he cleared his throat and tried again. “How is that even possible?”

She shrugged sympathetically. “You’d be surprised given what I’ve seen on a regular basis.” Whatever look crossed his face must have startled her because she continued hurriedly. “I-I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. If I knew how I ended up here, then maybe I could figure out a way to get back.”

“Back to where?” He shifted on his feet, uncertain.

“Well, even though I’d rather _not_  sound like Doctor Brown...back to the future.”

Oliver could hardly process, much less believe, what she was saying. His heart beat wildly through the panic. It was impossible. And yet...as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place, he stilled. Suddenly everything made sense, why this strange Felicity had appeared out of nowhere. Why she carried herself in a strikingly different manner. Why her hair was altered. Why she just felt _off_.

He’d found the wrong woman.

Rubbing his thumb against the inside of his fingers, his breathing accelerated, and he could barely gasp out his next words, “H-how far into the future?”

She scrunched her face uncomfortably. “Well, this probably goes against every time travel rule ever, but that’s what happens when you give up Doctor Who to marry a superhero—not that I’m complaining.” She paused to catch her breath, before speaking her next words in a rush, “Yesterday, I was living in the year 2022.”

Another heavy beat passed between them, as the implication of her words took up residence within him.

“I know you must be incredibly confused right now—which, for the record, that makes two of us—but I promise I will do whatever I can to get out of your hair as quickly as possible. Figuratively speaking, obviously. Since you don’t have a lot of hair to get out of.” She shook her head in self-correction, the act disturbing in its uncanny resemblance to the woman he knew and loved.

Oliver rubbed the back of his head. Well, at least the babbling was the same across planes of existence. Meanwhile, one gush of bewildered fury spilled over into the next, crescendoing like a volcano within him. He kept Felicity—no, _not_ his Felicity—in a staredown. He didn’t really understand why he was so angry, but he was. He was furious that she appeared relatively too calm about this whole situation. And then he was furious with himself for unjustly blaming her. But more than anything, he just wanted his Felicity back. Why had he been given another, who was apparently married to a future, _different_ version of himself? And Oliver thought joining the League of Assassins was complicated.

 _This_ Felicity tipped her head at him in that special way, sucking on her bottom lip. He tried to ignore the clench around his chest. “I do have one question,” she said casually, as though the universe hadn’t just played a cruel joke on either of them, as though accidental time travel was an everyday occurrence for her.

Oliver released a bitter exhale. _Only one?_

The woman before him merely took the silence as an opportunity. In typical Felicity fashion, she got to the core of the matter in no time, asking Oliver the one question he still had absolutely no answer to, reminding him—as if he needed reminding—of the one issue currently tearing him up inside. Oliver couldn't decide if her presence was making things better or irrevocably worse.

Pursing her lips, she twirled to glance around the room. “So, um, where is my doppelganger?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH. You wanted more. And this is what happened. My muse is crazy. So basically, this fic has become a combination of Parent Trap and FRINGE. In chapter 5, we’ll pick up right where we left off in the parallel universe. And then chapter 6 will have more awesome interactions between our Oliver and future “Faux-licity.”
> 
> I know you're all probably as confused as Oliver right about now. Fear not. Questions will be answered in the coming chapters.
> 
> Also, I know zero Russian, so all translations are straight from Google translate. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies, but alas this is currently my only option. If anyone knows of a better Russian translation site or if something needs to be changed, please let me know. I’m happy to edit for the sake of accuracy. Thanks!
> 
> Ваш шрам. - Your scar.  
> Что случилось с вашей шрам? - What happened to your scar?  
> Это я. - It’s me.


	5. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Connor bond, while she tries to understand Alternate Oliver a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, another chapter! Shocking, I know. Once again, I am such a perfectionist and incredibly busy that it takes me far too long to post these things. Clearly multichapter fics are not my forte. (Probably because I currently have too many that I’m juggling in my head.) Thank you all for your continued patience and support of this story, as I wrestle with my muse. Your encouraging comments keep me going. 
> 
> *Roughly 10 minutes have passed since we were last in the parallel universe.

|| THE OTHER UNIVERSE | 2024 ||

 

Despite the dim lighting, Felicity re-entered the strange base of operations with new eyes. Equipment and tools and the few pieces of furniture all looked the same, and yet the atmosphere had changed. The room felt less haphazard and more...dismal. Litter cluttering tables now seemed to indicate an attitude of despair, rather than mere carelessness. The darkness didn’t feel so oppressive anymore; instead, the large expanse felt empty, void of energy, deprived of purpose.

Felicity’s attention naturally gravitated toward the young person in the corner, the one who had called her mom.

 _Mom_.

Felicity felt her heart flutter with chronic aftershock, her throat tightening, on the verge of a gulp, but she couldn’t even swallow. In this universe, she was a mom.

Sure, Felicity had always imagined and maybe even dreamed about being a mom... _someday_. But imagining it and having a semi-grown child right in front of you were two very distinct things. Her mind was still having trouble processing it, though clearly the evidence stood before her, all nearly six-foot teenager proof.

As she studied the teenager named Connor from afar, she saw his eyes glaze over, rapidly bouncing all over the place, watching whatever was happening on the sleek, transparent monitors in front of him. From this angle, the glass looked almost invisible. His posture was poor, his shoulders hunched in that classic, habitual typing position, while his fingers swiped away at glass. He was beyond immersed. Was this what _she_ looked like when she worked?

In this stance, the gangly boy reminded her more of Barry Allen in physical appearance than he did Oliver Queen. But then she noticed the furrow emerging on his forehead, and a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Well, at least his face looked like Oliver’s. He certainly was an odd combination of genes.

Felicity rubbed her lips together, wondering how she ought to proceed. What exactly was she supposed to do, just walk up to him and start _bonding_ with a teenage version of Oliver Queen? She had a hard enough time relating to the adult version— _any_ version. What was she, Fraulein Maria?

She didn’t see how she could be considered anything other than a temporary substitute for someone who’d gotten to know a different version of herself. What if he hated her? (She didn’t even want to try to understand why _that_ mattered to her, but it did.) Besides, when she eventually did discover a way to get back home, wouldn’t this kid lose a mother (or at least a mother figure) a _third_ time? The whole scenario seemed awfully cruel for all parties invovled. What exactly had this Oliver been thinking?

On cue, Felicity's heart accelerated viciously, feeling _him_ come stand beside her. His magnetic presence seemed to fill up the entire floor, affecting her in ways she didn’t want to analyze. He must have sensed her unease, because his next words were tender, and he sounded so like the man she knew. “Don’t worry, Felicity. He doesn’t bite.”

Hearing that sly smile in his voice, Felicity shifted and raised an eyebrow at him. In return, he watched her with quiet interest, those intense eyes roaming over her face. Something akin to fatigue clouded his expression, yet he remained composed, serene.

And she was confused again. It was disconcerting not being able to read this man completely.

Oliver leaned in closer, his lips twitching in a whisper, “If it helps, he basically thinks you dropped from heaven, so I doubt there’s anything you could say or do that will make him _not_ like you.”

 _You mean like her_ , Felicity thought ruefully.

One conversation with Alternate Oliver, and already her perspective had shifted. Could it really be that simple...the loss of his wife and the love of a parent driving him to do all of this? She knew her Oliver’s heart was full to the brim with sacrifice. And as twisted as this man’s actions were, at least they made a little sense to her.

Still, suspicion gnawed inside her gut. Something else about him felt _off_ , some key omitted truth wafting off him in a dark aura. The Oliver she knew may have kept secrets, but this was different. She knew, because two could play at this game.

Upstairs just a few minutes ago, Felicity had feigned a touch more techie enthusiasm than she’d actually felt. And while her hands were truly anxious to explore any and all advanced gadgetry this future had to offer, in reality, she needed to do research to find a route home. And she needed access to computers to do that. And the only technology presently available was being occupied by the young person across the room.

Her supposed reason for being brought here in the first place and her means of returning home resided in the same location. Two birds, one stone. Or keystroke, as the case might be.

It felt rather wrong to manipulate the situation to her advantage like this, except Oliver hadn't left her much of a choice when he’d decided to _kidnap_ her. (Felicity thought she was doing pretty well, letting a lot issues regarding her current predicament go; but for some reason, she simply could not let that fact go.)

Felicity stole one final glance at Oliver, who just tilted his head in encouragement. He didn’t seem the least bit suspicious or remotely concerned about her having access to computers. And that made her think more than ever that he was in fact hiding something.

Well, she’d get to the bottom of _that_ sooner or later, too.

Felicity sent him a brief eye roll, before huffing out a tight breath. _Here goes everything_.

Tentatively, Felicity approached Connor, biting her lip while she watched him. He was mesmerizing, so much of Oliver prevalent in the expanse of his forehead and severe countenance. And yet there was a tenderness about him that was sorely lacking in Oliver, in either one she knew. He must have felt her presence, because he suddenly turned and quickly swiped off the headpiece.

They stood in silence for quite a while, examining each other; yet the moment was not as awkward as Felicity had been expecting. Apprehensively, she tucked a hair behind her ear and offered a small grin. “Hi?”

“Hi,” he said back, his bright eyes darting over her entire frame, while he straightened up to his full height, which was not quite as tall as Oliver but still impressive. “I guess this is all a little weird for you.”

She sighed a laugh, relaxing at his easy manner. “Yeah, it’s a bit overwhelming. I-I wasn't expecting...”

“Me?” he supplied. “It's okay. You can say it. I wasn’t expecting you either. You’re not jet-lagged, are you? Or is it time-lagged?”

Her mouth fell open, but her voice got clogged in her throat. Felicity’s eyes briefly slid to the right, catching Oliver in her peripheral vision readjusting the string of his bow. While he kept his head down, she could tell he was actively listening to their conversation.

When she looked back at Connor, an unexpected wave of sympathy hit her, seeing the way his face lit up like a Christmas tree as he watched her. Connor studied her with a kind of awe that she felt unworthy of, and she decided right then and there, that no matter how much she disliked this Oliver, she would not take it on his son...their son?

She swallowed. That was a sobering thought if there ever was one.

That scrutinizing furrow returning to his forehead. Felicity noticed the subtle change come over him as his eyes narrowed. And then, she knew. She just knew he was trying to figure out why she had “decided” to come here.

Still, she kept silent, some urgency making her unable to tell him that she hadn’t come here by choice. She couldn’t break his heart so bluntly, so soon. This kid had lost a mother. Twice. He hadn’t asked his father to take her. Of the two of them, _he_ seemed to be more well-adjusted. Yet outward appearances could be deceiving. She knew that all too well. If there was one thing Felicity Smoak did understand, it was the loss of a parent.

Besides, this was Alternate Oliver’s doing. It was his secret to tell, and she did not want to get in the middle of some father-son conflict. There was already too much drama existing in this universe. Great. She almost groaned. She was aiding her maniacal kidnapper’s efforts.

Felicity shook her head, trying not to dwell on that, and offered Connor her best grin under the circumstances.

Thankfully the young man smiled back, holding out his hand for her. “I'm Connor, by the way.”

She took it, not really understanding the formality but appreciating the distraction just the same. "Felicity—but you knew that already. Sorry, do you mind if you just call me Felicity? I mean, I am significantly younger than...your mom. And I'm not sure I'm ready to be called ‘Mom’ just yet and—”

“Sure,” he said simply with a chuckle, a easy sound that pierced her ears like warm honey. That was two things so far he had in common with Oliver.

“You're really tall for your age, huh?” she asked, surveying his height once more.

“They say it's all the chicken I ate when I was younger.” He shrugged. “I'll be sixteen in a couple of months.”

She gulped at the _severely_ minor gap in their ages, but just nodded a few times.

Suddenly, the top left corner of the holographic projection chirped a high-pitched beep, drawing his attention, and he typed away. Felicity watched, fascinated, as his fingers flew across the clear keys. She tried following his movements, looking for any obvious clues as to how she might get out of here, but she was having trouble keeping up with him—which for her, was definitely saying something. The network speed here was incredible.

“What are you working on?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“New tracking software for metahumans,” he replied robotically, heavily focused on the task in front of him.

“Tracking metahumans?” Felicity's eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, smiling proudly. “I mean, the government’s already doing it, so we figured we might as well get in on the action. We know the sequence for the meta-gene, and this particular database keeps a record of all metahuman ' _incidents_ '”—he did a rapid air quote—“over the past couple of years. It’s just a matter of extrapolating from the present correlations.”

Wow. That was interesting. “Why is your government tracking metahumans?”

Connor grimaced. “Recent legislation. It's pretty much illegal to be a superhero.”

Felicity felt her jaw fall. A world where you couldn’t be a hero? Really? She’d known since crossing over that this world was much more somber than the one she’d left, but this...this seemed extreme. “And you still help the city?”

He paused to look at her, his voice soft. “What other choice do we have?”

Felicity smiled gently, strangely pleased. Well, maybe this place wasn’t so foreign after all. Maybe there could never be a version of Oliver Queen who didn’t devote his life to saving this city. Maybe the team and the mission would always exist as a beacon in every universe, no matter how bleak the environment.

After a few more minutes of agitated typing, Connor sighed, clearly exasperated. His hands did an angry tap dance before he took a sporadic step away from the screen. “Well, I quit. Sometimes this machine hates me.”

Felicity hesitated, biting her lip. “Uh, do you mind if I try steering for a while?”

He carelessly waved his arm once, gesturing for her to go ahead. “Please, help yourself. You always do have the magic touch”—he stopped short, squinting his face in a pained manner as he scratched the back of his neck—“Uh, I promise that was way less creepy in my head just now.”

Felicity grinned, relieved she wasn’t her only one who floundered through sentences. He must’ve picked that up from her, along with his obvious interest in computers. “That’s alright. You’re talking to the president of insert-foot-into-mouth club.”

She approached the illuminated projection with the awe of a young child. She felt a bit like she was seven years old again, putting together her first computer. Wiping her hands on her slacks briefly, curiosity took over, as intangible wonder drifted into wonderful reality.

For the next hour or so, Connor helped her as she fumbled her way through the advanced software, explaining the gaps in a decade’s worth of coding she’d missed, pointing out which  networks were routinely monitored by the government and which ones were safer, though obviously less effective, to use. Except his definition of “less effective” was at least five years ahead of what she was used to working with.

Soon enough, Felicity picked up the gist of this decade’s operating system. Felicity didn’t think it was possible to love technology more than she already did. Oh, she had been so wrong. This was the only perk thus far of being in the future. More speed. More features. Just more in general. The buzzing excitement was honestly a bit overwhelming to her senses.

Something else that subtly crept up on her was the knowledge that she was really starting to like Connor. What wasn’t to like? He was smart and sweet and extremely patient. And he made her laugh. It shouldn’t have been so easy to be around him, but it was, like warming your hands by a fire, the sensation touching her soul. His kindness shined like a beacon in this dim place, and it was strange, trying to reconcile how this young person was partly raised by such a severe father.

And Connor may not actually have any of her genes, but aspects of his behavior were bizarrely similar, like the way he talked about technology as though it were a close friend. She supposed that’s what happened when one was partially raised by Felicity Smoak. Just how alike were she and the other Felicity anyway?

“It’s too bad we can’t update any of our hardware. They track that, too,” Connor explained to her.

“ _This_ is outdated?” Just what the heck kind of equipment did they have in this universe? “How have you stayed off their radar this long? I mean, obviously what you have here isn’t radar. But how do you keep from getting noticed by, well, anyone?” she managed to ask.

Connor shrugged again. “We move around a lot. But we always end back here for some reason.” His voice dropped, as he looked around the room for a moment. “Dad’s never said it, but I think this place feels the most like home to him.”

Felicity’s lips parted, while her gaze was drawn beyond the glass, back to the man still intently focused on cleaning his bow. Had something similar to what happened between her Oliver and her in the tower happened here, between this Oliver and _the other her_ , as well? He had mentioned he didn’t work to balance life as Oliver Queen: vigilante and Oliver Queen: father. It seemed those separate identities were one in the same, making life here even more dangerous. Did that mean the entire city knew who was under that hood?

“I have another question—” Her belly growled, and she felt her cheeks flush.

Connor grinned. “Apparently, so does your stomach. I think we have some leftover Chinese, if you’re interested.”

Honestly, at this point, anything was better than nothing. As Connor went to a nearby fridge, a sudden slapping noise startled her. She twisted around to find its source and froze.

Oliver had abandoned bow cleaning and was now in the process of throwing himself into workout mode, pounding away at a foam dummy. Felicity couldn’t help but watch in a daze at the way his muscles stretched and shifted with expert ease. It had been far too long since she’d seen Oliver like this. Thankfully, he was mostly turned away from her and so he remained ignorant of her blatant, entranced gawking. Then again, was he showing off for her? Felicity shook her head forcefully to dispel that notion.  

She was so busy staring, she didn’t realize Connor had come back until paper brushed her skin and a carton slipped into her own palm.

“He does that a lot, letting off steam,” said Connor absently, hopefully not picking up on her embarrassing reaction to his father. Well, _that_ thought hit her like a spray of ice water.

“Better than an innocent bystander, right?” he teased.

Felicity spun to glance back at Connor. “Has he ever done that?”

“No!” he answered immediately, frowning in a contemplative manner. “But I think he's afraid that he might snap one day.”

Felicity took a bite of the Chinese noodles, squinting at the sour aftertaste. “You really worry about him, don't you?” she said around the mouthful bite.

A mournful grimace played at his lips. “He takes crazy chances. Even before...everything. We don’t talk about it.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Was her presence here making things better or worse for him?

“It’s not your fault.” He took deep breath, hesitating. “It’s good you're here. This is the calmest he's been in months.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow, looking back at the man punching rubber like it was his dying wish. Calm? This was this Oliver Queen’s version of calm?

Felicity decided to throw herself back into a workout of her own, setting down the carton of noodles and re-immersing her brain in this new, bizarre, beautiful coding language. The repetitive sound of hits and grunts soon faded into the background like white noise, and for a while her mind could pretend that this _was_ home.

Felicity became so enraptured in watching this new, _higher_ -speed computer system doing the majority of the work for her, that she didn’t realize a third party had joined her and Connor until she looked up and there he was. He was standing right on the other side of the glass, his heavy breathing fogging up a small section, his gaze fixated on her once more. Honestly, she would have been more flattered if this behavior wasn’t just plain creepy. She shot him a glare, only it didn’t last very long as she registered that he’d shed his shirt at some point.

Felicity didn’t understand the blush rising on her face. She’d seen this man shirtless before. Multiple times. Shirtless all the time. And yet, not...not exactly like this. Despite being a decade older, his rigid and defined, toned and muscular arms were just as strong, just as beautiful, really.

Of their own volition, her eyes hungrily roamed over his annoyingly sculpted body, and as they did, her lips parted in a small gasp. Subconsciously, she searched for scars that she had memorized; but in the next beat, her heart did a strange flip, and she realized why seeing him now was so strange. Felicity recognized the tattoos and Chinese symbols on his abdomen and the star on his chest. But as she studied his chest, she saw and suspected the same was true for his back: he had no scars. _Not. One._

She checked again, rapidly perusing his arms and abdomen with scientific care. Was this a peek at what Oliver Queen had looked like before the Gambit went down? How did he not have any scars here? From what she could tell, he must have still been on that island. So what had changed in this universe? Her curiosity was driving her crazy tonight.

When she resumed eye contact with him, she caught the smile behind his gaze. Oh, he knew, reveling in the way her body involuntarily responded to his, like he was a magnet and she was a smaller one, an underlying force constantly pulling her towards him no matter how much she resisted. Maybe it was the bizarre lack of scars that had her so unhinged. She had to admit she kind of missed seeing the beautiful reminders of all that he had faced and survived. Not that she _wanted_ him to have to endure reminders of his suffering, but seeing him without the memorials of all that he’d overcome made this man seem even more foreign to her.

His face was impassive as he slowly came around the glass, re-invading her personal space, and she did not miss the confidence in his stride. “Everything okay?” he asked around a deep exhale.

She nodded once, taking her time to fully dip her chin.

Oliver looked like he wanted to say something else, but as quickly as the charged moment happened, it abruptly ended, another alarm taking its place.

The three of them turned in unison to watch reports coming in from all over the city and one portion of the map of Star City lighting up with red dots.

“Looks like some prisoners just broke out of Iron Heights,” said Connor.

“How did they get passed curfew?” Oliver’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“Probably the same way you did,” Connor pointed out, placing his fingertips to the screen and then slowly spreading his palm out like a web to make the map zoom in. “Are we still in the crime-fighting business?” Connor asked grimly, with a strained grin.

Oliver just tipped his head, letting out that classic half-sigh, half-growl of his, which was enough to have his son shutting down monitors and...packing them up? For five eternal seconds, Felicity watched with intrigue and slight horror as the glass shrunk before her eyes, and monitors were _folded_ like pieces of cardboard before being placed inside phone-size cases. This was weird. Felicity remain engrossed, watching the entire process she could easily see but was still having trouble comprehending.

Felicity looked around and saw Oliver was already dressed back in his hood and ready for war with military speed. Oliver and Connor tossed each other weapons and tools with incredible speed and accuracy, like they'd done this routine a thousand times. Perhaps they had. She puffed out an anxious breath, unsure how to help, and wondering what exactly her role was during this kind of emergency.

She didn’t realize they were leaving and she had yet to move from her spot until Oliver paused and frowned at her. “You coming?”

She felt her face fall. “You want me to go with you?”

“Sure, you’re our third man...or _woman_ , I guess,” said Connor.

“Oh. Look, I don’t know what you’re used to with her—me—the _other_ me. But I don’t have any field training. At all. Zero. Zilch nada none.”

Oliver ticked his jaw. “Well, now’s the time to learn I guess. Here, take this.” He pulled out a ring-sized box and handed her a tiny, circular earpiece, almost the size of a microchip, which she assumed was some kind of comm device. It was practically microscopic compared to the comms she was used to.

Obediently, she mimicked his movements, tucking the device beneath her right ear lobe. A small, affirmative chip went off inside her ear canal.

“And this,” he said, and a gun was thrust into her open palm, stunning her still.

Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head violently. Did he really expect her to use this thing? “O-Oliver, I’ve never used a gun before.”

He gave her a firm look, raising an eyebrow that meant no arguments. “Felicity, point. And shoot.”

Something in her face must have affected him, because then his expression softened. His voice dropped half an octave and became more soothing, deceptively gentle. “It’s just a precaution,” he said, gripping her arm firmly. “This isn’t about your skill set. This is for your protection...and my sanity. The city’s not safe at night. Do you understand?”

She nodded, surprised that he was being so open about his qualms. This Oliver was growing more perplex by the minute. Every time she tried to reach for some thread of familiarity, the truth unraveled right in front of her. It was like experiencing bouts of whiplash over and over. He was mysterious in ways her Oliver was forthcoming; he spoke to her like she was made of china, yet touched her like she was made of steel. He didn't ask for her acceptance; he demanded her equality. It was both refreshing and terrifying.

Under his fierce scrutiny, Felicity straightened her back in determination, and she could have sworn his face lit with pride. When he was finally satisfied that she was ready, he turned her body with his, half-leading, half-dragging her alongside him and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope this chapter wasn't too boring. Things will be get more exciting next time we're in the parallel universe. 
> 
> Chapter 6 will resume with OUR universe.


End file.
